TurnJerkin
by OutlawEris
Summary: Ch. 32! Maid Marian's elderly father is in Nottingham dungeon for debts, and she knows he won't survive. The only way to save him is to hand the sheriff the one outlaw she cannot betray. What will her choice be?
1. Introduction of a Trap

Marian smiled, and she brushed back Robin's hair. "You need to chop those atrocious bangs," she commented. He shrugged. "It adds to my mysterious aura."  
  
Marian giggled. "That was what the hood was for, moron. If anyone sees those dark bangs, they'll know our darling lord's son is a fake," she told him. "Oh, I should dearly miss my pompous alter ego," Robin replied sarcastically. Marian giggled again. "If not you, than I," she replied, still giggling infectiously. Robin rolled his dark eyes dramatically. "What I must deal with," he groaned, sounding utterly Norman. Marian laughed aloud this time, and her typhoid ecstasy rolled through Sherwood, bouncing off the trees with a force. "Hush, Mari," Robin rebuked, placing two fingers gently over her lips. She smiled at him through closed mouth.  
  
Will rolled his eyes at both of them. "Robin, Marian's father is looking for her," he informed them. Marian bolted upright. "Damn it!" she cried loudly, and went to leave. Robin began to clamp a hand over her mouth, but she stood up, and he was left on the ground by the tree. Marian threw her arms around Will. She always hugged the outlaws when she left, for none of them ever knew if they would see each other again. He smiled down at her. Robin stood up, and Marian squeezed him. "I shall see you on the morrow," she whispered gleefully. Then she ran out of the glade to find all her other wolf's head friends.  
  
Will glanced at Robin. 'You twit," he said, "You still have not told her you love her, have you?" Robin grinned merrily at him. 'Nay," he replied, but there was ecstasy in his face, as if secret loves were far superior to others. Will rolled his eyes. "It will be your downfall, cousin," he said. Robin laughed. "Then Sarah shall be yours," he returned.  
  
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Marian stepped into the manor house to find it dark. "Hello?" she cried. None of the candles were lit. "Jeremy?" she called frantically for the steward, but he did not answer her. "Anna? Lee? Gatty?" she questioned, begging for one of the servant girls to answer her frantic pleas. None replied. She traveled through the darkness to the main hall. Someone had lit a candle in there. Thank Heavens.  
  
Richard leered at her as soon as she entered. Marian screamed and grabbed for her sword. He placed a calming hand over her own, and she faltered, leaving the sword immobile. "I would wait before that action, lady," he told her. She spat on him. "Where is my father, you boar?" she screamed. He grinned. "I am afraid, my dearest, that the sheriff has" - he paused - "been forced to take some action in regard to the immense debts you father owes. He will be thrown in the dungeons for a few years. I am grievously sorry for-"  
  
"You are not sorry for anything, you son of a pig!"  
  
"My lady, I-"  
  
"He is an old man! He will not last in the sheriff's dungeons! There is no chance for him, Richard! He shall perish, surely he shall!"  
  
Richard smiled. She had fallen for it. In her foolish feminine worries for the old man, she had fallen straight into his plot. "There may yet be a way to save him," he whispered. Marian looked up at him. "I will do it," she replied.  
  
Perfect. 


	2. Council of War

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I made a mistake. From now on, the story is from Marian's point-of-view. I will change the first chapter soon. So please be gentle about the POV change when you review. Thanks.  
  
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The sheriff smiled cordially at both of us from the end of a wide oaken table. He lifted my hand in his own, and kissed it. His lips remained quite longer than necessary, as did his grip. I awaited release patiently as I was able, although my free hand fell absently to the hilt of my sword. I would need to curb my tongue if I was to gain all I wished.  
  
The sheriff gestured kindly towards the chairs round the table. I gracefully accepted, and sat down in the chair left of the head. Richard planted himself on the right side with a loud bang. The sheriff stood patiently until both his guests were seated before sitting down himself - at the head. He smiled in that forced manner once again. From his mien, one would have supposed this was a friendly gathering. But it was truly a council of war.  
  
I smiled cordially, though the mockery of joy was strained. I prayed that neither of the others in the room could decipher my facial expression.  
  
"How are you this evening, my lady?" the sheriff questioned. My eyebrow convulsed. It had begun.  
  
"I should be fine, my lord, but for the fact that my father has been imprisoned in this very castle," I returned. The sheriff's peaceful countenance went through a spasm of anger for a trice, but he quickly regained his calm. "I am deeply sorry for that, my lady, but it was, as you see, inevitable. He simply owed too much."  
  
I chose not to argue. I would wait it out. "My lord," I began instead, "I will pay the debts, if need be. But is there some quicker manner of earning his release?" The false cordiality was getting to me.  
  
The sheriff grinned. Perfect.  
  
"Why, my lady, we are not here to discuss that. We are, instead, here to discuss a statement of young Richard's," he replied.  
  
I started and snapped a glare at my betrothed. The weasel. He couldn't have known -  
  
The outlaws.  
  
"What might that statement be?" I asked, a little too quickly. The sheriff's smile dissipated. "I fear," he began, 'that Richard claims you have been consorting with a particularly troublesome band of outlaws, and their leader" His lips curled in utter loathing. "Robin Hood."  
  
Damn it.  
  
I jumped up in outrage. Time to play the lady. "How dare he?" I screeched, "How dare he accuse me of such a crime! I have never done such a thing! I would never-"  
  
"Exactly what I said," the sheriff interrupted. I felt adrenaline rush through my veins. That was not the answer I had expected. The sheriff could take Whitby in one fell swoop if I proved a traitor and my father perished. Something was definitely wrong. What was the man up to?  
  
"And so," he continued, "I propose that you and I prove him wrong." Richard's face contorted. He had not been expecting such a turn as this either.  
  
"How?" I replied sweetly.  
  
Again I had fallen victim.  
  
"My captain of the guard has devised an excellent plan, dear. We shall capture the infamous bandit, therefore proving your loyalty to the crown and disloyalty to the rogue in one fell swoop."  
  
I felt my heart wrench in my chest. Betray Robin. I could not. I refused to sink so low on the moral ladder. But my poor father.  
  
"If I should not?" I snapped. My patience was greatly strained. The sheriff bowed his head. "Then I am afraid your father shall die in the dungeons." He looked back up, and waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, and you shall perish as well."  
  
I bowed her head submissively. "I shall do it," I whispered. The sheriff patted my shoulder. "There's a good girl," he comforted.  
  
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	3. The Inconvenience of Trust

Please say you will not come. I stared intently at Robin. He shrugged innocently. "Of course I shall come," he replied. Damn. "See, when we brought the families off of Lord Byron's estate to Yorkshire, we also brought some back from Yorkshire," he informed me. "Could hardly leave them, you understand." Only to Robin, was that so obvious. "We barely have enough to feed them. It is a miracle we feed everyone." He laughed, and I noticed his cheeks were growing hollow. I knew who had been going without meals. We entered the camp.  
  
Instantly, seven or eight outlaws surrounded Robin. Someone said that foresters had found a group of their targets - should they be torn down? Another said they had only food for the families to last another two days - should they risk another trip into Nottingham? And yet another problem, after problem, after problem. I faded into the shadows of greenwood while Robin handled the problems that had arisen.  
  
"Eh, we are all a group of petulant children, squawking for him when we have any difficulty, aren't we?" Sara asked, sharpening her knife against a whetstone. I nodded numbly. How could I do this?  
  
Somewhere we heard Robin cry, "Will! What did you - ah, just get over here!" Will groaned, "Coming, Mother," he quipped. "Ha-ha. Aren't we amusing?" Robin replied moodily. There was good deal of muttering between the two that could not be interpreted form this distance.  
  
Sara and I had a short conversation before Robin came back. "Remind me to slaughter Will later," he muttered, running dung-spattered fingers through his hair. "Bloody fool sliced our targets for sword practice. And I know it was him, though he bloody well denies it!"  
  
Sara grinned. "Aw, please, can I do it?" she asked. He snorted. "Of course." His worry line deepened, and the arm dropped to his side. His breath was growing shallow, as if the cough was coming again. "I need to speak with Marian for a little bit. Can you handle things for a moment?" he asked her. Sara's eyes sparked with anxiety. She had seen his expression as well. She winked and saluted. "I'll be a perfect tyrant!" she replied merrily. Someone heard Will groan aloud. "Not the queen of the-"  
  
I stood, and Robin and I proceeded to the edge of camp. He began hacking as soon as we were out of earshot. The illness nearly bent him double over. When it had subsided, he stood again and smiled. "Couldn't let them hear me, of course. They worry enough, don't they?" he asked. I nodded, again feeling numb inside. It was so hard to meet his eyes.  
  
"That bread should be much appreciated," he continued, still appearing out of breath. He glanced at the peasants congregated by the meager fire. They were laughing. I peered over at the families. One of the women looked over at me and whispered to a friend. They all giggled.  
  
Robin rolled his eyes. "They have never seen a lady before," he muttered. I forced myself to giggle, and waved to them. They both grinned with sheer indulgence. "Now, ladies," Robin called, "I know I'm handsome, but try not to be so obvious."  
  
They both flung back their heads and laughed at Robin's jest. I forced a laugh out of my chest, but I knew what I was ending. I prayed that the other outlaws would survive without him. They had to.  
  
Both of the peasant women went back to fletching, which was the "dreaded task." But Robin forced everyone to do it, even the passing families. He was convinced they would need their massive stockpile one day. Every outlaw could quote him on it. "You cannot see the rain in Sherwood, but that doesn't mean it isn't coming." After he said it, they would groan and mimic him for almost a quarter hour.  
  
"So, you're coming," I whispered, and paused to look in his tired eyes. He ceased walking and stared at me in return. I felt my eyes begin to well with tears. "You're coming alone to the Nottingham High Road." Me voice cracked dangerously. I hoped that saying the entire process aloud would help him realize the danger. But there was only trust in his eyes.  
  
"Of course, Mari. What should I fear? It is only you, eh?"  
  
If only you knew. 


	4. Blindly Walking

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AN: Short interlude form Marian's POV, just so we know not everyone trusts the Lady of Whitby willfully as Robin.  
  
"Robin, you are not usually this naïve," Will barked, "There IS something suspicious. Why should Marian want you alone?" He was worried, even if this was Marian. No outlaw in their right mind would go to the Nottingham High Road alone. The place would be swarming with foresters in minutes if he was seen. Robin's eyes ignited. "Are you saying Marian would betray us?" he snapped. Will shook his head. "Rob, you know I did not mean that, but still, being alone is-"  
  
"I will not be alone."  
  
"Marian does not count. She cannot be seen with us if there is a fight, for it would betray her. Robin, please, listen to me. Just let us foll-"  
  
Robin glowered at him. "Will, I believe that, since I." He paused and his face convulsed with pain a this own memories. "Since I murdered, it would seem I can take care of myself."  
  
Will shut his mouth. It was not necessary for Robin to bring that back up again. But it had come up all the same - the reason for Robin's outlawry. Robin nodded curtly and set out for the high road. Will sighed. "Cousin," he tried one last time. Robin turned, and he shivered in the frigid breeze.  
  
"Trust no one." 


	5. The Plot Thickens With Blood

AN: All right, so Will has a brain, but he follows orders. Almost like General Longstreet in the book The Killer Angels. Woah! Way too much English class. Back to the Lady Marian.  
  
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I squatted behind the thick wall of shrubbery. Richard was beside me, squatting as well. The birds around us had once again begun singing. My thighs were beginning to ache from remaining in place so long. But the infernal fowl were behaving as they should. Robin noticed any infinitesimal disturbance in the woods; even if he could completely miss a sword held inches form his face.  
  
There was a slight rustling in the trees down the road. Richard jumped, and there was a frantic tone to his voice as he began whispering questions. I pinched his chubby lips between her fingernails, a bit more viciously than necessary, to shut him up. And then I leaned forward to peer at our visitor.  
  
Robin leapt downward from the branches of a tall yew. He landed on his feet, and dropped to one knee. Everything went quiet. The birds flew from the area, screeching as if some horrid ogre had begun attacking. Robin laid one ear to the earth and closed both eyes.  
  
"What is he doing?" Richard whispered. I held one hand in front of my mouth to muffle the noise. "He is listening for the sounds of hoof beats, or footsteps."  
  
Robin re-erected his head and peered around. No horses. He stood cautiously, as if something should soon attack. When no wild boar leapt from the bush, he began walking forward.  
  
Richard gave me a hard kick, and I emerged from my hiding. I had somehow managed to cram my hair into a Norman helmet. The disfiguring metal nose piece gave me the appearance of an inhuman creature poised to strike. I had worn boy's clothes, with a tunic hanging so loosely that not even the most observant should tell I was no male. I removed the sword from its hilt. The metal gleamed maliciously in sunlight.  
  
Robin jumped back, startled. "Good sir, what quarrel have you with me?" he asked nervously. I wantes so badly to smile and wave. But, good Lord, my poor father. I assumed the fighting position. "Stand and fight, outlaw scum!" I screeched. He HAD TO run. He WOULD run. This was all just a game, I told myself. It was all a game of knights in the Yard. Nothing was real. No one would die, and no one would murder. It was all pretend.  
  
Robin raised his staff. Before I could react, he swung, and the staff connected with just the right angle.  
  
My helmet flew to the road.  
  
The metal clanged nosily as it hit earth. A mass of auburn curls cascaded from the metal confine, joyous to be free. I raced after the helmet to grab it. But it was too late. He had seen.  
  
Robin froze. "Marian," he whispered, and the staff clattered noiselessly to the ground.  
  
I gave up the pursuit of my helmet for lost, and stood. My emotions could not take the stress of watching his horror surmount. So I created a false reality for myself. God, I lost it. It was all a game. This was all just a game, I told myself. It was all a game of knights in the Yard. Nothing was real. No one would die, and no one would murder. It was all pretend. Somehow, I convinced myself. My mind reeled with my own mad convictions.  
  
"Stand and fight me!" I screeched, marvelous villain that I was. Robin's eyes shifted. He shook his head slowly. "I cannot, Mari."  
  
The hot rage surged through me. The fool! Run, you imbecile! I wanted to scream a warning, wanted to tell him it was not only I, but Nottingham's soldiers. But I could not. "Fight me!" I repeated. Robin shook his head. And everything I hated, everything I loathed, all boiled down into a single venom. It was all his fault - everything. My father was in jail. Will was an outlaw. I had secrets from my best friends. I hated him.  
  
And I swung the sword. It connected with his stomach, and left a painful slice. He groaned with the sting of his wound. Maybe if he knew I would hurt him, it would force him into battle. But still he would not. I had even left a wide space between us, so wide he could reach the accursed staff if he wished to. I would not stop him.  
  
I swung again. Please fight me, Robin. I will let you win. You can be the best knight, but fight me. He would not. So I struck again and again and again in my fury. He would realize I meant it soon enough.  
  
Suddenly, he hit his knees, gasping violently, shoulders shaking mercilessly. This was when he got up, and all the blood went away. But he wasn't getting up. This was no game of knights in the Yard. This was reality. He was hurt, and I had his blood on my sword. My mind reeled. He was gasping when Richard came out of the bushes.  
  
I was dimly aware of Robin's crying out when they bound his hands. Why was that? Oh, that was it, I had sliced his wrist. I had hurt him. "Robin!" I cried suddenly. He glanced upward to watch me. "I did it to save my father!" Richard laughed, and threw an arm round my shoulder. "Oh, Marian. That was the story we created for the Sheriff. Why waste such a perfect falsehood on the outlaw?" He kissed my neck, and my skin crawled with the feel of his vile lips. "Robin, he's lying!" I cried frantically. He turned away from me, and would not look back. The world dimmed as they gagged him.  
  
He struggled furiously, but there were seven of them, and one bloody mess of him. Everything remained distant, until I heard a faint, agonized, bird call.  
  
"That is their distress signal!" I screeched, before my mind registered the warning. Why did I tell? I could have been free from obligation if the other outlaws shot me. And Robin would be safe. But then my father would die.  
  
My mind zoomed back into reality. Robin's face fell. I wanted to sob when he looked at me with that utter disbelief, but I held my expression. I had to save my poor, dear father, even if it meant sacrificing dear, dear, love of my life - stop it, Marian. As if. You have a job to do. "You!" I screamed, pointing to one of the puzzled guards. "Aye, milady?" he replied.  
  
"Get a horse, and bring the outlaw to Nottingham castle. The sheriff will know what to do." He remained in position, staring stupidly at me for a moment. "Now!" I barked, and he hopped to. I did not need to look as he dragged Robin upward.  
  
"Everyone, on your mounts," I roared, pointing to the remaining soldiers. "The others will be here in a matter of minutes, if not moments. Let's move!" Tears filled my eyes. I could not believe my own actions. Did I not have control over my own life? I had lost my ferocity and my independence. I had become the meek little maid they wished me to be.  
  
They all leaped to their steeds and flew towards Nottingham. I paused to stare at a battered metal helmet that lay on the ground. I did not want to touch it. I wanted to burn it. But no evidence could be left. I placed my hands round its filthy silver crest. Traitor, turncoat, wretch. Traitor, turncoat, wretch. I nearly dropped it. It seemed to radiate my essence with that singularly vicious phrase. I silenced it by ramming the contraption on my head. They had known. The sheriff and Richard had known Robin would never hurt me. They had known I was the only knight in Nottingham that could defeat Robin Hood, since I would never be struck but his weapon.  
  
We rode away, and Sherwood seemed to loom upon our party. It knew what we had done.  
  
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Author's Notes: I'm sooo sorry Feye Morgan, but there is no way out (for Marian at least). Apologize to everyone for my tardy update, but I wanted to wait until Winter Break.  
  
THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR REVIEWING!  
  
I want to hug you all! But that would probably be more of a punishment. So, I won't. I have decided I like author's notes. The omnipotent power fills me with joy. *cue the evil cackle*  
  
If you want to see the ballad I made this story up from, it's on my website. It's under Ballads. Kinda hoped it would be obvious and all, but you never know. I love twisting ballads.  
  
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	6. The Adder Strikes a Deal Again

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All right, time to reply to the questions of reviewers. I kind of forgot last update, because I wrote that entire chapter in one night. See, I have major writer's block most of the time, but then, for an hour or so every fortnight, I get this mass splurge of ideas and creativity and I just write and write and write with little or no regard to the rest of the world. Ever read the Redwall books? It's like the Blood Rage of the badgers in Salamandstron. So--- I had just finished it and checked the spelling and grammar. I'm odd in my ways, I know. Sorry to Ff.net, but it was sort of hot off the press. Keyword - Sort of. Anyways,  
  
Dragon of the North - Well, both Robin and Lee did not want to fight. I mean, seriously, who would want to take on the sheriff of Nottingham? And both of them feel (and are) responsible for every little or large thing that goes wrong. Oh, and they worry about their men. That's all I could think of. Can't remember the book very well, you know. Also, we meet Marian's father very soon.  
  
Eh, Man - The sickness I actually read about in a book on the Middle Ages. See, England's climate is extremely damp, as you know. Rain, rain, rain. And the chapter on illnesses (not pleasant) said that, due to this dampness and their pathetic housing, many foresters and others who spent a lot of time in the forest tended to develop hacking wet coughs and die young. Sad, isn't it? There was this boring medical explanation, but I (obviously) skipped it. I was going to have the others have this cough as well, for historical accuracy that I sadly lack *sigh*, but then I looked at the histories of their lives I made up, and they ain't been in that forest long enough. Except maybe David. Thanks for that point. (David clutches throat)  
  
Feye Morgan - Robin is definitely going to need someone cheering him on. He thanks you. I'm sorry I can't answer your other questions, but it would ruin the plot! Glad you care about Robin, though.  
  
Corrina o'hood - so glad you like Marian's POV. I kind of made her a medieval Amazon, if you know what I mean. And the whole rescuing thing you discussed? Hehe - please don't spoil my plot. *chu*  
  
Ruby- you're so sweet! Thank you!  
  
Dragon of the North - Don't need to remember Lord Byron. I just made up that name. And I'm so glad you like my sheriff. I much prefer when he is wicked and diabolical, instead of fat and stupid, don't you? He's fun to write about. I like reading about a human side of him, but I LOVE writing about a fiend from Heck! Appreciate that you enjoy Sara's continued appearance. There will be some new female characters, and a revised Pyle character in the following chapters, to spoil something for you.  
  
Lis - thanks for your review! Glad I wasn't boring. Your story was great as well!  
  
Indigo Dream - I'm so glad my review helped you and your friend! I hate to criticize constructively. I feel so evil. Saying it helped you made me feel so much better. You helped me, too! Thanks for that. It's so kind of you to say you love this story! Thank you soo much!  
  
Lady E - Thank you for being thrilled. It boosts my pathetic ego. Your story was positively excellent! I can't believe Marian either, and she's my character! Thank you for your compliments!  
  
Ananda - Robin positively loathes being deceived. He prefers pretending he's on top of things. And yes, Will failed us. If he wasn't so cute, I'd stay mad at him.  
  
My sister - Well, that was obnoxious, but expected. Remember, you are my sheriff. And the bad guys always lose.  
  
All the darling reviewers-You're all soooooo nice to me! Thank you for reviewing! I'll return the favor soon. Just have so little time on the Internet. *Curses siblings under breath* Hope you enjoy this chapter!  
  
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Chapter 6  
My scabbard was empty. I realized my sword was missing shortly after we passed through Nottingham's gates. How the heck had I dropped it? My own stupidity amazed me. I would miss that weapon so. But it did not matter. Robin was rotting in Nottingham Dungeon. Nottingham Castle's dungeons. I shuddered fearfully despite myself. It was another world's Hell - something fairies must scare their children with, as the priests frighten us with the tales of Satan. "Richard," I commented solemnly, determined to drive that place from my mind, "I left my sword in the road." He was an idiot, but at least it was conversation. It took my mind away from Robin.  
  
He shrugged stupidly. Well, that description was rather unnecessary. There is no other way the churl does anything, besides in a stupid manner. I frowned at his natural tendency towards idiocy. We were passing through the part of Nottingham where most peasants made their homes. Many of the outlaws were here, doing their own small bit of good. I hoped they had not seen Robin coming through.  
  
David of Doncaster, the second to youngest of the outlaws, was juggling coins for a group of raggedy children. He winked merrily at me as they squealed with unchecked delight, clapping and hopping with merriment, begging for more through their laughter. Obviously, he had not seen. David was dressed in his shire disguise - a brown tunic even dirtier than that which he usually wore, with a hood over his scarred face. It was not quite different from his usual outlaw attire, but since it was not Lincoln green, he was always seen as some farmer's lad. All the coal digger's children knew him by name, since he had been brought up there. They would come racing from the huts when he arrived, calling his name and pulling his hair with impunity. It was his favorite place to spread joy. I always found it hard to imagine him a criminal. The sheriff seemed far more diabolical than a lad of sixteen winters. I turned away when he grinned at me - for shame. I could not bear it.  
  
"Let us ride from here with haste," I whispered to Richard, and we both set the geldings moving toward the looming fortress of Nottingham Castle, David's puzzled eyes on my back.  
  
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Author's Notes::: David is not my original character. He is from Pyle's version. But he had no personality, (I mean, this is Pyle we speak of. Character development was snipped out of his dictionary) So I gave the poor thing one. The youngest outlaw, for you curious people, is Allan-a-dale, the minstrel.  
  
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"Sheriff!" I barked. My feet made slapping sounds on the cobblestones.  
  
His head appeared around the corner of the hall I was striding down. Dark hair clung in damp strands to his neck like snakes to prey. "Lady Marian," he began. It was hardly a greeting - more a statement, as if he were introducing me to another. "My lord sheriff," I replied moodily. That snapped him out of his reverie. He smiled the sly grin that sent shivers up my spine every time it appeared on his greasy countenance. "How are you this day, my dear?"  
  
"Fine," I snapped curtly, cutting right to the point, "Where is my father?" The sheriff's face lost its cocky composure, and a serious discomfort grew evident. Interesting. Good, you Satanic tormentor. I crossed my arms. "Please, sirrah, answer."  
  
The sheriff stepped forward from his hiding place. The rest of his body appeared. His shoes squelched with each step as he approached me. I guess someone had spilt water in them. It happened often enough at Whitby. Scullions were occasionally clumsy. At home, we all only rolled our eyes, smiling. Now, it was a great effort to resist laughter. "You see," he responded quietly, taking both my hands in his own, "I may require you to perform another task before I can release your fa-"  
  
I pushed him away forcefully. Marian of Whitby was no weak little maiden to be taken advantage of. "You may? You MAY? Well, sir, I MAY be forced to push you out that window!" I screeched, pointing at the suggested exit. What else could I do? I had already given him the man he strangled in his fondest dreams. But in my fondest dreams---  
  
"That was not out agreement!" I continued, flinging both arms madly in the air. He would not do this to me. I would not allow him such a privilege. "Give me my father!" My voice cracked with the force of the scream.  
  
"Lady Marian!" The sheriff clutched both my wrists and drew me close to him. I readied my knee in case he wished to try anything, but kept quiet, realizing he meant for secrecy. "There are none to give testament to our agreement," he threatened in a whisper, "I could take the outlaw now and leave your father to rot with him - IF I wished to do so. But, out of the kindness of my heart, I have chosen to present you with a REASON to obey me. Now, you WILL perform this task, or the old man shall be in prison for an extended stay." His voice grew hoarse with animosity. I only nodded obediently. "I shall do it." My reply was also hoarse. But the sheriff had not yet bested me. He should not have bothered restraining my wrists.  
  
My knee went upward and rammed him where he didn't want to be rammed. My two friends, the ladies Margaret and Cecilia, visiting the sheriff's daughter, peered anxiously at me from their positions round the back corner. Well, I see my scream had aroused someone. I was glad they had seen our conversation. I had a few witnesses this time, just in case. "This is the last time you play with Marian of Whitby," I told the sheriff, standing above him with my arms akimbo. He glowered at me from his curled position on the ground. Now if I could only free Robin everything would be perfect.  
  
Perfect. That was how Robin had always described me. Why was he always so bloody wrong?  
  
** ** *** *** *** *** ** ** *** *** ** A/N: Sorry it is a bit short, and not very well-written. And boring. The real trauma is coming soon. (laughs wickedly. Both Robin and Marian cringe in fear of freakish and unfortunately for them omnipotent author) I posted this in a hurry, though I write it a few days ago. See, I had to work on a few really awkward sentences. So, the somewhat awkward ones are former catastrophes. Feel free to comment on them anyways, that way I'll find all of them.  
  
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	7. Kiss the Curse

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A/N: Anyways, just a really quick note. Does anyone have any title suggestions? See, the current title (Turn Jerkin) was supposed to be a twist on "turncoat" but I don't think anybody gets it, (or it isn't funny) *characters snigger, suggesting that the latter is true. I threaten to add a few names to my kill-off list, and they shut up* I was thinking of "You Learn" as another possible name. I am just, like, clueless. Or does anyone think I should keep the title 'cuz I'm too far into it already?  
  
I cannot believe I posted two chapters so closely to one another! (Well, close for me) Thank you to everyone for reviewing chapter 6, and thanks to True Fan (or should I say Eh, Man?) for pestering me about an update. Chapter 6 isn't much of a tell-all, so I'm also posting chapter 7. Yes, I have no life outside of writing. What do you expect? Enjoy. Or then again, maybe not.  
  
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FIRST DAY OF FULL IMPRISONMENT  
  
I was back at the castle next day, early in the morn, as I had been instructed by my curled oppressor. He claimed the "may" in his task depended on the events of last night. Well, I would get this accursed task over with quickly. A nervous scullion flew by me, skidding in an attempt to stop. "M-my lady!" he called frantically, arms flailing. I whirled around and smiled genially at him, though I could not see his face. Despite the hatred and misery growing inside my heart, I would not take it out on someone else, especially one of the poor souls that slaved for the sheriff. The tired boy's shoulders heaved up and down with every breath he drew. Unkempt blonde bangs hid his face as he stared furiously at his feet. "M-My lord sheriff says that - he says you are to come with me." He paused, panting, in a desperate attempt to regain his breath. "He is very s-sorry that he-he cannot provide an adequate escort for you at the - at the moment."  
  
I nodded. "Lead on, then," I replied, and he looked up at me. I jumped back when I saw him, and his face fell. Now I knew who had spilt water in the sheriff's shoes. He kept his head down as we began to travel down the hall.  
  
I have to admit I was feeling guilty right then. I had not meant to recoil at his bruised face, but it had taken me by surprise. We did not beat our servants for such a small offense at Whitby. I felt sorry for him.  
  
"Spill anything lately?" I asked, brutally clear. His shoulders jerked into a hunch. "Aye, milady," he responded in a near whisper. I knew it. Just then, I noticed we were descending. "Where are you taking me?" I snapped.  
  
"Why, to the dungeons, milady."  
  
I should have known. Oh, good God. The sheriff was waiting for us at the doors, with Richard at his side. Two oafs. How charming. The scullion cringed when he saw the sheriff. "You little whelp---" the sheriff began threateningly, eyes narrowing. The kitchen boy backed behind my skirts. "Coward as well, then," the sheriff finished, and he turned to me. "Tell him to leave," he snapped, "I will not speak to such a pathetic creature." I craned my head backward. "You can leave now, dear," I whispered, gently as I could mange, smiling kindly at him. The kitchen boy nodded quickly, grateful smile on his face, and fled.  
  
"You!" the sheriff barked, pointing at me. Rude infidel. "You are to do as I say, despite your emotions." He had obviously sensed my discomfort. I could hear some poor soul's screams, and a series of repetitive thuds echoed from beneath a cell door some feet off. I shuddered to think of even a short stay in such caves. It was then I realized that I stood on the door leading to one of the hellish pits. I shied away quickly. Nottingham's dungeons were below ground, though the true torture usually took place outside the cells of its prisoners. I shivered despite myself. The sheriff was obviously looking forward to the agony of today's victim. I wanted to wring his neck, knowing bloody well who the object of his animosity was, but I could only bow my head and obey him. I would rather it be Robin, who was strong and could take it, than my father.  
  
"We are bringing the outlaw out for a flogging," he continued, smiling wickedly as he contemplated that coming occurrence, "I t seems that he has proved - er - difficult to tame. All five watches beat him last night." I flinched. "Yet he still addresses me as the 'King of Pigs." He wrung his hands in joyous anticipation. "I shall leave him without a shred of skin on his back today for it." It took a great strength of will not to wince again when he said that. His cruel finger was directed at me once more. "When you see him, you are to laugh. Laugh loudly and viciously, understood?"  
  
Ah. So the brute needed my help in bringing Robin down. The coward's way to crush a man. Attack the spirit. How typical of him.  
  
My heart collapsed into an ashen pile of dread. I could not force myself to do that, no matter how great an actress Robin thought I was. I could not. Not to my best friend. NAY.  
  
"And," the sheriff concluded, "I want you to kiss Richard - in front of the outlaw." I could not resist raising an eyebrow. Well, THAT would hopefully cause Robin no pain, despite the disturbance it would perform on my innards. But Richard had that wicked smile on his face - the one he had worn often when we were younger, right before he punched Robin in the nose. My eyebrow dropped. He knew something, and knew that somehow that disgusting action would hurt Robin. And I had to kiss that smirking bully. Gross. If I can manage to get through it without retching, I pondered.  
  
"Now, come over here," the sheriff snapped. I forced myself to stand quietly by his side without raising a fist, though I wanted so badly to break his nose, leaving the cell I had been standing above open to attack, as the two guards walked past. They flung open the door I had just been standing on and descended. There was aloud banging noise, and I flinched when I heard it.  
  
And then they brought Robin up. It had only been one night. One bloody night. His face was nearly black with bruises, and his knees quaked as if they could barely support him. One eye was swollen shut, and much of his lower lip was hanging off. Blood trailed down his face in thick crimson rivers even now and there were scarlet stains round the ropes binding his wrists. Could they not have removed those? Even his breathing was ragged. Everything was injured. He appeared completely hopeless, shoulders slumped in utter, painful defeat. Until he looked at me.  
  
His eye blazed with pure, unchecked rage. The line that was his mouth twisted with the need to scream curses. Fire leapt in every movement of his ravaged body. I had seen that emotion before - HATE. He appeared to be contemplating the best way to have the flames of his anger consume me - head first or feet first. I do not believe I should wish to know the answer even now.  
  
The guard punched him roughly in the head. He cried out in pain and hit mangled knees. "Sir!" I snapped, "That was rather unnecessary!"  
  
Robin's head flung upward, enraged. "I do not need aid from traitors, bitch!" he cried viciously, loathing roaring from every slurred syllable. Pity surged in my heart when I saw his lip trying to form words, but he was oblivious to my compassion. The second guard kicked him in the stomach. "Shut your vile mouth, outlaw!" the sheriff's man bellowed. Robin hit all fours, somehow supporting himself with bound wrists, and emitted the smallest, most pathetic groan. Now I had to act.  
  
Tears forming in my eyes, I flung back my head and burst into the cruelest laughter I could conjure. I had always been an excellent villain when we played knights. But this was not laughter; it was a witch's cackle - harsh and vicious; there was no amusement in it - only scorn. When we played knights, I had been truly giggling, because a so-called dead Robin kept pretending to bite my leg. But now---  
  
Richard joined my mocking screech, except his was full of actual mirth, and Robin's shoulders slumped. His eyes dimmed as the guard yanked him upward by the remnants of a collar.  
  
I ceased in my jeering scream and turned to Richard, smiling coyly. "Amusing, isn't it?" I asked, my teeth clenching against such a grievous falsehood. Making sure Robin watched, I pressed both lips against my betrothed. He responded in his usual lusty manner. Somehow, he forced my closed mouth open. His tongue was twisting round my own like an eel. I felt the vomit surging in my throat, but I had to force it backward. I had to play queen of the demons. But soon the retching noises were beginning, so I gently let Richard know I wanted out. He released me. I was free.  
  
The sheriff instantly met my eye, barely allowing a gasp of fresh air. His gaze told me to continue the charade. Please don't make me, I pleaded mentally, attempting to penetrate his black heart with my gaze. He only glanced meaningfully at Robin's sagging form. What was wrong with my outlaw?  
  
Tears were welling in my eyes. I wanted so badly to tear the guards into tiny little pieces that would scatter on the winds and drown in the mighty river of Sherwood. I wanted to beat the sheriff senseless - no, I wanted to beat him badly enough to render senselessness, but deny him the escape of unconscious. I wanted to take Robin back to the forest and out of this dreadful stone pit. But even more than that, I wanted my father to die in peace.  
  
"You thought I was your friend, didn't you, my pathetic Saxon dog?" I spat, crossing my arms. Robin lifted his eyes and they were heavy, but the anger was still burning there, barely, like a candle on a rainy day. "You twit!" I continued, "I, a lady of Whitby, become your friend? The other foresters loathed you. Did you not expect the rest of us to do so? Or were you fool enough to believe anyone could possibly stand the sight of you?" I flung back my head and cackled again.  
  
Robin's shoulders sagged even farther, though his stone face revealed nothing but anger. But his eyes told all. I would kill the sheriff. I would bloody well MURDER him. Robin was a stoic, but he could not throw the mask over his eyes. And they were showing the pain of my words. Their deep steady glow had vanished to a wisp of conquered ash, slumping dejectedly, though his shoulders were straight. Robin, why do you care what I say? Why do my words cut you so?  
  
Suddenly, I had an idea. I would give him a chance to redeem himself. I would say something so completely outrageous he could deny it with complete confidence, and my verbal attack would have to end in his victory. But hearing him deny it would break me. It would snap my soul like a thin sapling twig. But Robin needed the victory more than I.  
  
"I was even told you LOVED me, whelp. Is it true? Did you? And did you believe I should ever return it?" I spat. My body waited for his response - a vicious, witty rebuke to crush every argument I had presented.  
  
He lowered his head and cocked it to the side like an owl, silent and contemplative. He was watching the ants scurry across his feet, as if they were returning the broken pieces of his heart. The sheriff burst into rolling, jeering guffaws that echoed in the room. This information had been a pleasant surprise for him. Robin would not look up. Richard began laughing as well, as merry as the sheriff. I could not force myself to join them, even if I were only acting. All I could plaster on my face was a sneer. And even that was failing.  
  
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Author's Notes::: Okay, the spilling of the water seems random now. But I used it to show the differences between Marian and the sheriff, just so we remember who the stronger antagonist is. And I suppose I should have described the dungeons more, but I wanted everyone to get to keep their own picture of it.  
  
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	8. To Nottingham and Back

WARNING: extremely random chapter with three different viewpoints, just so we know how everyone's doing. Also, a little suspicion about our sheriff's motives. Hmmm---- 

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Later that day, I received a curt message at Whitby Manor. The sheriff had sent me home after the ordeal, promising to send my father as soon as I was back. He said he had some secrets I was not allowed to view. Interesting. But being so worried for my dear sire's safety, I had obeyed him. Besides which, I could not stand being in that evil place a moment longer. 

And now this. I ripped open the package anxiously, recognizing the seal instantly. 

"Your father cannot be returned to you at this time." 

That was it? I glowered angrily at the messenger, who trembled at the sight of my ferocious gaze. The warrior edge of Marian of Whitby was known well in small Nottinghamshire. "I am coming back with you," I told him. He knew better than to defy MY orders. Within minutes, my horse was saddled and I was on her back. The sheriff would pay for this behavior.   
  


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Meanwhile, in outlaw country--- 

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Will was near tears. Robin was lost. It was all his fault. He should have followed him anyways. It was all his fault. He was supposed to look after Robin. No one else ever did. It was all his fault. That was his job, and he had failed. He always failed. 

Sara raced into camp. "Will!" she screeched, twisting her neck back and forth as she searched for him. She saw him sitting on the ground, head in his hands. He was leader for now, and they all turned to him. Would Robin think he had wanted him gone, just to be leader? Will prayed not. But he would rather have Robin alive and doubtful than dead and trusting. 

Sara saw his agony, and she ran gentle fingers through his hair. "Will, love," she whispered, kissing the crown of his head, "Nan and I found where they attacked him." She kissed his forehead when he peered up at her, and he stood to look at her even more closely. She still seemed beautiful to him; even through there were clumps of mud on her face and arms. He picked a dead leaf out of her hair. "Show me," he whispered in reply, holding the side of her face. At least they had not taken Sara. She grinned and rolled her eyes. "It is not your fault Robin is gone," she told him as they walked. "He would not blame you, so do not expect the rest of us to do so." 

But it was his fault. It was always his fault. Sara wrapped both her arms around one of his, and grinned up at him. He forced himself to grin in return. They headed towards the road, meandering through the trees, and soon came upon Nan kneeling in the dirt. 

Her fiery red hair blazed in the sunlight. Nan was the ":mother" of the outlaws. Actually, more a mother bear - sweet tempered, loving – until you touched her friends. Her temper would blaze as red as her hair, and Nan's revenge would be brutal. Will had only seen her that angry once before, when a group of the foresters had beaten her younger brother senseless. They did not do it again. In fact, they shied away from him now, as if afraid he would go tell Nan on them. That rising of fury did not happen often. She usually walked round with a peaceful, content expression on her face. 

Now she was gripping a broadsword with her bare hands. Her docile features contorted with animosity, and she clutched the blade until her hands began to bleed. Will and Sara stood above her. "Nan?" Will asked. 

She whirled around and stood, the sword still in her hand. Old blood stained the point of the weapon, along with the new red Nan had just now shed. "How could she?" Nan whispered, eyes intent on the sword. She was quaking with hatred. "How could she betray us?" 

"Who betrayed us, Nan?" Sara asked. She could not read, and was puzzled by the sudden discovery Nan had made. Nan pointed to the hilt, and tears began to flow down her face. The crest of Whitby mocked them, stained with day-old blood.  Nan looked up at them with pain in her eyes, as she thought of the lady she had believed her friend. 

"Marian." 

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And now, to OutlawEris's favorite victim ---- 

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Robin leaned against the wall of the dungeon. It had no bars, but for those barring the windows that let air in. It did not need them. He lay in a pit beneath closed square door looming above his head. There was no way out, but the guards used a ladder to get in when they felt like beating him. 

He had tried escaping at first, running at the ladder. But they had flogged that out of him. They had laughed it out of him. They had rendered him lifeless. And the real torture had not begun. He could be in here for months.

The door opened, and light shone down on Robin. He held a hand over his eyes and winced. The sheriff had come down. Robin backed up against a wall. Leave. 

The sheriff grinned. "Scared, are you?" he sneered. Robin shook his head. He was not afraid of this man. He feared the power of this man's position and the pain it would cause him, but never the man himself. He was not afraid of the sheriff. He never had been. But he was afraid of other things. He feared the people's forgetting him. He feared their disapproval. He feared foresters; he feared the new day. But he would never fear this man. 

 "Shall I make you fear me?" the sheriff asked cruelly. Robin glared at him. "Nothing should make me fear you," he replied, desperate not to slur his words. 

"What if I were to bring you in front of those filthy commoners in Nottingham and show them this?" The sheriff raised a hand, and Robin cringed, turning his head away and closing both eyes. An instant later, he snapped back to reality. He had never done that before. Never. He stared, amazed at himself for a moment. Why had he cowered before the beast? What had happened? 

The sheriff laughed. "You have been conquered. You fear me, as all in this shire will – even your outlaw friends." 

"You are wrong!" 

Robin felt his loathing grow. He hated the fear of pain. It should not have been there. It had never been. He had made sure it would NOT be there. But this man's evil had made it come. Robin lunged at him. 

The sheriff sidestepped quickly, taking full advantage of his foe's weakened state, and grabbed the outlaw by the hair. Robin winced, and the sheriff laughed. "Not so strong now, eh?" he jeered. Robin kicked him in the shin. The sheriff kicked him in the spine. Robin groaned. The marks of the whip burned with the mud from the sheriff's boot. "That's right," the sheriff mocked, "I can cause you more pain than you can express. Do you wish it?" 

Robin chose not to respond. 

"Be silent, then," she sheriff said. He threw him to the ground. Robin cried out. His tormentor brought his face close. "Tell me where the young brat of Norwell is," the sheriff ordered. Robin grinned, forcing himself not to grit his teeth. "In England," he replied. 

The sheriff crushed Robin's face with his boot, and there was a loud crack as Robin's nose bridge snapped. Then the sheriff flung him into the wall of the dungeon. "Wrong answer," he spat. Robin winced when his torn back hit the stone, but he kept his cries inside this time.  "Tell me how to get him," The sheriff ordered.

"Bend over and kiss your own ass." 

The sheriff pushed him into the points of the stone until he screamed with pain. The edges of each individual stone dug mercilessly into the slices on his spine. The few wounds that had closed up began bleeding anew, and those still gushing blood let force a stronger stream of red. "There will be more coming," the sheriff threatened. Robin gritted his teeth, silencing the screams that wanted to continue.  "I would sooner die than inform you, pig," he replied. 

"That can be arranged."  

Robin only grinned. "I will have you weeping for want of the noose round your scrawny neck," the sheriff continued, temper rising. Robin raised one eyebrow. Indifference was a weapon, even if it were only false.  

"They will hear your screams in London." The sheriff slammed Robin's head into the wall and strode for the ladder. The guards quickly removed the only escape route and closed the door. As if he could escape. Robin sank gratefully to the ground and lay there, curled helplessly. For the first time since he was seven, he felt the urge to sob. God, his body ached. His spirit even more. But it had been so long since he last wept, he forgot how to. 

Marian knew. She knew he adored her. And she had laughed at him for his love. He had burned with intense pain in every atom of his body, and now in every particle of his soul. Curse her. Nay. He cursed himself.  He could not force himself to stop loving her and needing her approval. He peeled himself off the wall. That stance had pained his back far beyond what he could stand, so he moved forward. Lord, it would be hard to sleep, if the guards allowed him to. Last night, they had come in and beat him whenever he began falling asleep. He groaned quietly to himself, hoping he would not fall senseless as he had when they flogged him. Tears stung his eyes. Beautiful, perfect Marian danced mockingly through his tortured mind, laughing at him. Fool! Silly little Saxon, thinking he could best the Norman sheriff of Nottingham. Robin fingered the wooden cross around his neck. Nearly all the outlaws wore one. He rubbed his finger nervously against the point where all four rods met. The indent there, placed by constant contact with Robin's finger, no longer gave off splinters. Robin found a tiny comfort in the constant motion. He closed his eyes, an aching weariness overtaking him. The sheriff always kept his word.  

But why in the name of heaven did he wish to catch Will?

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Okay, Marian's father not being returned to her was important because ----

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It was growing late, and I had completed his task. Standing in his office, I was about to open my big mouth and screech at the sheriff regarding his dishonorable behavior when a wiry messenger came through the door. His hair stood on end, and his left shoulder was exposed by the askew feature of his oversized tunic. He grinned, and shifted his tunic. "Goodie day, me lordie sheriff," he murmured abashedly. Odd greeting, to be sure, but there was no mistaking a lower class accent (Robin had one), apart from the added "ee"s.

The sheriff forced himself to smile in return. "The same to you, my good man. And I suppose you bear a message for me?" 

The other man nodded eagerly, reaching into the folds of his tattered cloak. His dirty, callused hand offered a crumpled message to the sheriff's aristocratic ones. The master of Nottingham snatched it quickly, not wishing to dirty himself by touching such a hand. 

His eyes scanned the message, and his eyes bulged out. I leaned casually over his shoulder, twirling a strand of hair coyly, and made out the message. 

_"I was, as you know from my last letter, very excited to hear about the capture of the infamous rogue, Robin Hood. I suspect you have had him these three long months as you told me last in our correspondence. I shall arrive in three days' time to watch the hanging. I suppose that the three months' time I granted you have been ample for the gaining of any information regarding that Norwell brat, and acquiring that handsome reward offered by his father." _

So, our sheriff had been telling a few falsehoods of his own. The idiot! How very intriguing. Here was something else to gain by Robin's imprisonment – the saving of his own skin. I grinned inwardly, afraid to do so with my actual lips. Did I hear someone cry, "Blackmail!"? The sheriff looked up from the message with astonishment in his eyes. He glanced up and down at the pathetic messenger. "This message --- who has written it?" he whispered, although he could clearly see the signature. 

"Pardonie, me lordie?" 

"Who is the author of this message, you twit?" 

"Why, me lordie, it is Princie John." 

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A/N: Okay, now you all hopefully understand why Marian had to leave and come back. In order to read the sheriff's letter, she had to catch him unawares. I was originally going to have her sneak in on her way out, but that would be impractical, since guests were usually escorted from the castle by someone. And a stable boy would have gotten her horse for her, etc. So, unfortunately for story flow, she had to leave and come back.  

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	9. The Best Laid Plans

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A/N: Hee-hee. Authoress confessions. Um --- I made up Nan. *simpers* and I got the kiss your own ass idea/concept from Braveheart. I forget what Wallace's line was, though. (It was the only scene of the movie I ever saw. Figured I'd use the idea, since some *psychos* think William Wallace and Robin Hood were the same person)??? One against the English, one for them.  
  
And why did I update on time? Well, I've been high off of my new Matchbox 20 CD, which I LOVE, and I just started to like this new anime, Rurouni Kenshin. So cool. (Yes, I have weird taste) Actually, I think it's old, but for me it's new. Also, my finals are over! Bahahahaha! I win!  
  
And, yeah, I haven't really thought of a reason WHY my sheriff can read, but he can. I decided he could, because I was reading this article about creating a strong antagonist, and well, most of my villains were like 4 out of 20. *sigh* So I gave my sheriff a skill that my protagonist doesn't have. But then again, Will and Marian can read, so ---- *loud bang as head slams into fake oak table* I give up.  
  
Anyways, I know everybody likes my little interludes, so that made me happy. 'Cuz I have three more prepared, and I was afraid that everybody would hate them when I first thought up the idea.  
  
But now, here's a skip away form Marian, who's sleeping restlessly at Whitby. And we join our outlaws ----  
  
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The moon glowed as a beacon against the sharp contrast of ebony night. Torches lining the outer walls of Nottingham Castle offered their own feeble attempts at mimicking such brightness, but their fiery shine was a rather fruitless go at it. Two silhouettes cast themselves against the trees, unnoticed by the guards. The casters of these shadows, David and Nan, crept silently past the guards and rounded the corner of Nottingham Castle. "There are the grates," David whispered, pointing to a low row of identical barred windows. They were each of them half-embedded in damp dirt.  
  
Both outlaws began at opposite ends and peered into each and every cell, through the barred windows. Neither found Marian's father. Yet, Nan did find Robin.  
  
He lay motionless on the ground. "Rob!" Nan hissed. He did not move. 'Rob! Robin! Robin!" Nan leaned back on her heels. "It is hopeless. Sentinels are coming in a few minutes."  
  
David grabbed a rock and sent it flying into Robin's forehead. Robin yelped, jumped to his knees, and peered wildly round. One of the guards from above flung open the door above. "I told you to keep quiet, or we'll beat you again!" he roared, sounding quite drunk. Robin nodded with frantic obedience, hands by his sides. Satisfied that the wolf's -head would obey, and too drunk to punish Robin, the guard slammed the door shut with his booted foot once more, leaving Robin in darkness again. As soon as the black surrounded him, Robin's gaze flew instinctively to the window, and he saw them. They grinned kindly at him, but both had grim lines in their expressions. They motioned for him to come over. Robin managed to limp over to the window before collapsing to his knees. After a few moments he stood up again and planted a foot into one of the holes between stones. He just barely reached the window. He faltered, hands clutching the window bars for support.  
  
"Hello, then," he whispered, resting his cheek against the base of the tiny window. His face looked awful. Nan reached a hand through the bars and stroked it. He pushed her away. "Stop, Nan," he commanded, weary, but still agitated. She obeyed, but there were tears in her eyes. Robin turned to David, voice hoarse from screaming. "She being sensitive 'bout it, then?" he asked.  
  
David grinned. 'Isn't she always?" he replied. Robin's smile came back. "Is everyone all right?" he asked, bringing his head up, "None of you are ill?"  
  
Nan grinned. "Nay, Robin, we are all perfect," she replied. He smiled. "That is good." He slumped downward, and his grip on the bar lessened, as if some deep satisfaction had come over him and he was prepared to die.  
  
They all remained there for a few moments - perfect communion. David stared at Robin's hands. "I thought they'd bound your hands," he murmured. Robin shrugged, eyes closed peacefully. "One of the guards unbound them," he murmured, "so he could break my wrist." Nan winced. "It didn't really hurt, though. I wasn't completely conscious." He watched Nan warily, in case she showed any signs of the hated sympathy. When she did not show any promising signs of compassion, he looked up at them again.  
  
"Do the peasants still believe in you?" he pried. Nan nodded. "They will never lose their faith in US," she replied angrily, glowering at him. "See, most outlaws are hung because someone catches them out of their own stupidity. You fell to a traitor. They do not abandon you for that type of stupidity."  
  
Robin's hand had nearly let go. "Thank you for coming," he whispered. His voice was strained and hoarse. "Tell Will he can be leader now, if you all agree. John does not want to be leader, so I won't ask him to be, even though he would be quite good at it. Looming above possible outlaws makes a nice impression." He smiled slightly. "And someone needs to teach Lucy to shoot straightly. She holds the bow incorrectly. Stutely needs to fletch. He has been shirking his duty, to no one's surprise. And --"  
  
"Be quiet," David snapped moodily. "We will take care of everyone, understood? But there will be no new leader. We are going to rescue you, Robin."  
  
"You cannot! The sheriff will kill you! He has guards everywhere!" Robin cried. This outburst sent him into a mad fit of coughing that could easily be heard above him. The group waited tensely, hoping the guard would not be irked enough by this intrusion to poke his fat head into the rancid hole. When he did not appear, David went back to lecturing.  
  
"We are going to try, whether you approve or not." Robin hacked again. "Will is temporary leader," David continued, "and he agrees. Just try to stay alive - we don't know how long the sheriff is going to keep you in here. And - well, we cannot come again. The sheriff must suspect nothing. He must believe we have given up."  
  
"Which you should!"  
  
"Aye, but you should have turned yourself in when you were outlawed," David rebuked, "and you did not." "Two wrongs do not make a right," Robin snapped in return. His foot was slipping from the hold.  
  
Nan grinned rakishly. "Then I shall have to make it three."  
  
"Damn you all to bloody hell."  
  
David and Nan rolled their eyes in unison. "Quite sure you have that power," David said sarcastically. There was a loud banging. "That would be the guards outside awakening. The ale was supposed to keep them out for at least three hours."  
  
Suddenly, Robin heard loud yelling from above. "Damn it, he is talking to someone! I know it is those outlaws!" the sheriff roared. "Go outside and CATCH THEM!"  
  
Robin turned quickly to Nan and David. "Run!" he whispered. They both knew better than to argue. Both took to their heels. Robin began a long, loud series of bird calls that blotted out the sound of their footfalls and completely freaked out the guards, since they didn't exactly sound like "bird" calls. He smiled as they froze and stared frantically round them, not daring to move.  
  
The sheriff was behind him before he could react. WHAM! Robin lost vision for a moment and fell to the earth. "Who were you talking to?" the sheriff snapped. Robin forced his own eyes open. "I can't seem to remember," he replied sarcastically, head spinning, "That last blow jarred my memory." The sheriff caught the sneer at end, unfortunately.  
  
The back of Robin's head exploded with intense pain. He groaned loudly, clutching it, and swore. The sheriff spun him round. "I will not repeat the question," he barked. Robin grinned. "You imbecile! They are long gone by now! Go ahead - try and find them! Do you truly think anyone prefers your company to theirs?"  
  
The sheriff slammed him into a wall. "I would beat your scrawny body into a bloody pulp right now, but I have promised that particular pleasure to the next watch." He stormed out of the dungeon, screaming for someone to catch those outlaws. Robin grinned to himself in the approaching darkness. But then his lip slit open and he ceased to smile.  
  
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A/N: Yes, Robin hates me. Too bad. I am the omnipotent author, and he is my pawn. *Robin swears, since I always lose at chess* And it's only the first day. Bahaha. But only two days left, to be optimistic.  
  
And, in case you were wondering, Nan and David ran to hide in an ally's house in Nottingham. That's how they got away. And, yea, I know that Nottingham Castle was on a hill, so it would've taken a while. Hence, Robin's birdcalls. Medieval people were superstitious. So scary noises would make them pause in order to be assured that it wasn't some "mystical vengeful spirit".  
  
And Marian's father is coming! Soon. Oh, yes, VERY, VERY, VERILY soon. So, my eternal gods of reviewerdom, I leave this sacrifice of literature upon your altars! Please respond nicely to my sacrificial lamb/goat/dove thing!  
  
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	10. In Your Absence

A/N: OK. Just a quick note. When I use the heading, "Second Day", I mean the second day of Robin's imprisonment, not the second day of the entire story. And sorry for the tardy update, but FF.net refused to allow me to upload any documents last night and the night before.

And thanks to Eh, Man for Beta-ing this chapter for me!  

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SECOND DAY 

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I pressed both palms against the wooden door of Whitby Manor's kitchens, where I had been bandaging some stable boy's leg.  He'd wandered into the yard a few hours ago, ranting and delirious with illness. Aedre had recognized him, and since none of the ladies were useful enough to understand healing, I had to bandage his bloody, DISGUSTING leg. 

The door swung madly on its hinges as I raced past its pitiful confines. My bare feet pounded against the sloshing wetness that was my home's rolling hills. Dirty water erupted from the numerous puddles I splashed through and stained my already soiled dress. I was able to leave my problems behind for one brief, blissfully moment when I saw him. 

"Father! Father!" I screeched. Oh, the sheriff had sent him home! My father was home! His blurred elderly vision adjusted to the darker atmosphere of Whitby and then he smiled, white-gold wisps of hair floating slowly through the air round his head. He knew it was I. 

I hurtled down the hill, ready to forget all. And then I trilled a bird call of ecstasy. It was pure habit to do so. But it was Robin's habit. His brothers had called him, "Sparrow's Whelp," because he had a habit of screeching bird calls whenever he was overcome with a sudden glee. I had picked it up from years of running in Sherwood with he and Will. But my ecstasy at the sight of father was crushed by memory. 

He noticed my look of despair, but chose not to say anything. "The sheriff has released you, then?" I whispered breathlessly. He laughed. "Love, released me?  I have been in London. Did our lord sheriff not tell you?"  

"But, I was told --"   

"I am so sorry I left you without any notice, but you were visiting your friend and I did not wish to disturb you, since you said she was deathly ill." 

Well, that had been a falsehood. I had actually been in Sherwood with Robin, but my poor father would faint if he knew his 'darling offspring' consorted with those 'despicable miscreants.' 

"Of course, Father, I understand. But what was so urgent it could not have waited for the morrow?" 

"I do not know to this day, dear." So, he had been taken on the road. Despicable sheriff. But, my father's next statement blew my mind. "When our good friend the sheriff told me of this desperate circumstance, he informed me I would need to set out right away if I were to make it in time. I did so, but when I reached the house of Lord Firth, he claimed there was no such pressing matter." He paused, smiling. "But why should the reason matter, dearest? Did not the servants tell you where I had been?" 

They had been absent since he left. It had been my ladies and I, and they knew no more of it than I did, as they had been away visiting Norwell Estate and Will's obnoxious brother. The insufferable sibling was one of the reasons I had chosen to escape to Sherwood. But I could not worry my father. Not in his old age. I would not erase that peaceful, serene smile for the world.  

"Of course. Silly me. I only forgot for a moment in my ecstasy."    

It had not been the lord of Whitby detained in Nottingham Castle. It was the servants. And everything – every tear and every scream - had been for nothing. Robin. My heart lurched. I saw my sword and his bleeding face and every bruised part of him running in my mind's eye. All for naught. I felt a hot rage coursing through my veins. I had a horrible temper, and was angry for the major part of every day, but this was a new type of rage. This was rage for an injustice, and for someone else's suffering. No one had dared trick me before. I was not used to this. And I was not accustomed to feeling angry because of a wrong committed against someone besides myself. But now I was angry. I was livid. And someone was going to pay for it. 

Pay for it in blood.  

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Robin rested his head miserably against the wall. It was rough against his scarred face and callous to his need for consolation. He whimpered slightly, because he knew that the guards who had just finished beating him would find that amusing, and hopefully leave him alone. As expected, they burst into laughter, pointing at him with their hard fingers.  

The taller one kicked him viciously in the side. "Pathetic," he sneered, and Robin released a low, plaintive wail, praying it would appease their sadistic need for his pain. His body couldn't take much more of their torture. The shorter, but more brutal, guard paused, staring down at Robin's huddled form, wondering if it was worth the trouble of raising his hand to continue thrashing him. "Eh, we'll leave him for now. This place smells like dung," he muttered, aiming another disdainful kick at Robin's stomach. 

Tall One smiled. "After all, we'll be down here in a few hours to drag him up for a flogging," he sneered, watching Robin hopefully for a reaction. Robin forced himself to shake, though the sniveling action made his skin crawl with self-disgust. Satisfied, the guards turned to leave. Thank Heaven. 

"Wait," Shorter One said, placing a hand on his companion's shoulder. "What?" Tall One snapped. Shorter One sneered down at Robin. "He's only going to be here for three days," he said, stepping towards his victim. "We might as well make it as unpleasant as possible." He grabbed Robin's collar. "Would you like that, outlaw?" he jeered, grinning at what he thought was his own humor.  Robin shook his head fervently, and his vision spun violently. The guards' faces blurred into one sniping picture, and he staggered backwards. Short One dropped him, and he collapsed onto the ground, gasping.  

"Damn," Taller One whined, "Why are they doing that?" Shorter One nudged Robin with his boot. "Prince John's coming to see this troublemaker hung," he replied, "in three days. We got the message last night. And if I was the sheriff I sure wouldn't want to keep HIM waiting, not with his temper."  

He leered down at Robin.  "Hear that, lackwit? You've got royalty coming to see you." Robin didn't respond, so the guard kicked him in the head. Robin yelped and threw both arms over his skull, nodding frantically. _Happy now? But inside, there was hope growing. Three days! That was it. _

"Eh, my arm hurts," Taller One grumbled. Robin glowered at him. _No wonder, he thought, _you've punched me so many times I was sure it was going to fall off. How unfortunate that it's still there. _"Let's leave him alone for now," Taller One continued, rubbing his shoulder. Shorter One stared at Robin. Robin could tell he wanted to go on pounding him until he was senseless. Actually, senselessness seemed like a nice option right then. You couldn't feel your bruises forming when you weren't awake. "You make one damned sound," Shorter One barked, snapping him out of his reverie, "and I'll come down and beat you bloody." _

_Again_, Robin added silently. Aloud, however, he said nothing, only nodding with the obedience that pleased Nottingham's guards so much. By God, his body ached. And it was only the first watch. That was why Robin called them Shorter and Taller One, because they were the first watch. Fat and Fatter Two, who could literally throw Robin across the room, were the second watch. They were followed by Sadistic Coward and Sadistic Drunkard Three, the worst pair, who could find any and every excuse to beat you until you screamed for pity. Lastly came the only guards who showed any sympathy, Sickly and Domineering Four, who loathed the beatings even more than Robin, regularly giving it up after less than five minutes. 

Taller One and Shorter One left. Robin sighed and leaned quietly against the wall. It still lacked comfort. But that didn't really matter anymore. He grinned foolishly to himself. It did not matter how they beat him! They could flog him until he pleaded for mercy! It did not matter! Three days and it was over! He was free! 

Gossiping guards. He had heard about Prince John's coming arrival. Did they think he was too badly beaten to hear them? Idiots. He could last three days without problem.  Actually, he realized merrily, two days, since the message had come the night before. Will would be safe, and that would keep the others out of harm's way, which would keep the peasants of Nottingham protected. He almost hugged himself in ecstasy, but it would have been too painful. Instead, he threw back his head and emitted his happiest, loudest bird call. "Shut your mouth down there!" one of the guards above him snapped. Robin wisely decided to rejoice quietly instead. They were all safe– all of them. He would never tell where Will was. Never tell where camp was. Even if he were to swing. 

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A/N: So, we finally meet Marian's father, and another plot twist. En't I wicked? 

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	11. My Brain Hurts

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A/N: aren't y'all so proud of me for updating almost regularly? Well, no one wants to listen to me rattle on about myself, so instead I'll just finish up by thanking Eh, Man for beta-ing this chapter for me! Yay!  
  
And to answer Dragon-of-the-North's questions - Of course Marian's father isn't going to be a foddering old sot! He has a part to play, a very important one. He's crafty behind those innocent tufts of white hair. *laughs evilly*  
  
Interlude from Marian's POV again.  
  
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"Why in the name of God are they doing that to him?" Will cried. Nan, who had just finished reporting, shrugged artlessly. "I don't know," she lied, hands clasped innocently behind her back. David stared curiously at her. "But, Nan, that pretty girl in the tavern told us ---" Nan rammed her foot into David's ankle, but the comment had still aroused Will's attention. After all, they'd been gone for longer than expected. They should have been able to retrieve information; especially considering that five of the sheriff's kitchen wenches and six local tavern girls were smitten with David.  
  
Will watched both of them quietly for a moment, frightening them with his lack of words. Will rarely kept his mouth shut. There was a long, awkward pause as he surveyed them with the utmost intensity. "What did she say, David?" he asked finally, breaking the wicked silence. David shrugged uneasily. "Something about information as to where camp is," he replied, watching his feet.  
  
"Look at me, David," Will ordered. David met his eyes, simpering pathetically. "Would you please repeat what you said?" Will asked, lip twitching. David couldn't lie when you met his eyes. Nan sighed, knowing he'd spill what they were trying to keep secret. David's eyes widened, and his eyebrow twitched. "I-I said that --- well, I--"  
  
"Aye?"  
  
"The sheriff wants to know where you are," he muttered, eyes flying to his feet once more. Nan glowered at him. Will blinked a few times, and his face paled. It was his fault. His heart deadened within him. "Where I am?" he croaked, eyes round with shock. David nodded silently, and rubbed his left foot with his right. He smiled apologetically at Will and quickly headed out for his turn on watch.  
  
Sara was sitting nearby, clumsily stitching a hole in someone's tunic. Catching Will's expression, she dropped her work into Gatty's more capable hands and came towards him. "Will?" she asked. He bit his lip in frustration and turned to her. It was his fault that they were tormenting Robin so often. His father didn't know if he was in Sherwood or not, and was offering to pay the sheriff a high price in order to find out. An even higher price if the sheriff could bring Will back to Norwell.  
  
Sara wanted to smile and comfort him, but smiling just didn't seem right, in light of the subject matter. "I'm sure they'd hurt him anyways," she comforted instead, crossing her arms and shrugging. Will shook his head. "Not like - not like they are," he croaked, staring blankly ahead at the trees. Those rank, decayed carp that called themselves guards. Drunken swine. Sadistic beasts of Satan. Will clenched his fists against the guilt that was washing over him. And they had free reign of Robin.  
  
"They'll be more careful of him than they are of most," Sara continued, "They have orders not to kill him before the hanging unless they themselves wish death." She shrugged again, wishing she could be sure of her promises. Will didn't really seem to believe her anyways.  
  
I should just tell my blasted father I'm in Sherwood, Will thought. But he was afraid to. His father would descend on them all with a wrath if he knew his second son was amongst them. Will despised his own revolting cowardice. He could so easily save his cousin from Hell. But, nay, he would only bring more pain down if he revealed himself. If he ever got his hands on the sheriff of Nottingham's neck---  
  
"Will?" someone asked. Will and Sara both whipped their heads around. The speaker was a slight, timid girl with huge dark eyes and light brown hair that framed her like a halo. New outlaw, too, by the looks of her footing. "John says he knows how long they'll be keeping Robin," she informed them. Will nodded. John was practically a mute; the Normans had tried to cut his tongue out, and almost succeeded. Now he was petrified of opening his mouth and preferred to communicate with his hands and face, although he had the ability to speak. It was a difficult task signing, so he tended to keep to himself. Robin understood what John was trying to say best of all, and had the most patience with his signing, so he usually did the interpreting. But he was gone. "I already figured out what his information concerns," the girl said, smiling at John, who grinned in return. "Took me a little bit of time, though." She giggled.  
  
John held up three fingers. "Three months?" Sara asked. John shook his head again. He pressed both hands close together. "Less time than that?" the girl asked. John nodded, smiling. The girl was almost as quick with it as Robin. "Three weeks?" Will croaked, gulping slightly. John pressed his hands together again, shaking his head. "Three days," the girl corrected. John grinned at her and nodded.  
  
Will swore loudly, though his face flooded with relief. "Three days to plan," he whispered. Sara nodded. "In truth, two. We may not make it," she replied. They gazed morosely over the treetops, watching as the multitude of rag tag outlaws under Robin surrounded them. Suddenly, David leapt from a tree limb, followed by a more sinister man of Sherwood.  
  
Robin's outlaws were all abandoned and lost peasants clustered round the single fire available to them - that of Robin Hood. They laughed and giggled about robberies, mocking the Normans they gagged with grossly exaggerated gestures. There were twigs and leaves in their hair, mud and dead leaves on their clothes. They missed the target, burnt the soup, stumbled over roots, and lost themselves three feet from camp. But this other man, Adam Bell, was a different type of miscreant.  
  
A twisted scar ran gruesomely down his face. It colored hideously when he was concentrating on something, such as archery. He had only three followers, and not a one of them dared risk such a stupidity as missing the target. And now he was standing in Robin's camp.  
  
Jenna, one of the VERY few run away ladies in camp, screamed at the sight of this fearsome legend, and promptly collapsed in a faint. John stood anxiously, glancing instinctively for a leader to defend. Finding none, he held his formidable staff in a fighting pose. Will and Sara raised their bows, and the many others, banded in their trees, unsheathed daggers and raised staves.  
  
"Hold," David commanded, "He comes to---" he looked warily at Adam again, "to help." Adam Bell stepped forward, smiling rakishly. "I hear Saint Scrawny has been captured by the sheriff," he said calmly. That was Adam's nickname for Robin, and it royally annoyed Will. But Robin claimed it was just Adam's way. All of his followers had similar derogatory titles, and everyone knew Adam would die for each one of them. Will glowered. "And? Have you come to boast?" he snapped. Adam shrugged. "Partly to brag, and partly to help you retrieve him."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because there is one way, and one way alone, I am able to rob as I do. Your 'leader' and his little righteousness campaign." Adam snorted scornfully. Will's fists tightened. It was not the time to push him. "The sheriff doesn't overly mind when I rob for my own good," Adam continued, "but when Scrawny takes FROM the Norman pigs and gives TO the Saxon dogs, he robs the sheriff of the land he usually gets from bankrupt peasants. And THAT is far worse than simply taking money."  
  
"We do not require YOUR aid at this time."  
  
"Oh, truly? Then, pray tell, what is your plan?"  
  
There was an awkward pause, as the outlaws looked nervously at each other. They knew they were getting Robin back, but as to how they would achieve his safe return, they had not a clue. Nan stormed up and growled. "I have a plan," she snapped, determined to save everyone from embarrassment, "but it will need to be executed before the day of Robin's hanging."  
  
Adam nodded his approval. "Then tell us," he ordered.  
  
Will shook his head. "We wait for everyone," he replied, realizing with a sudden despair that it was a hopeless cause losing Adam, however much he needed the mongrel to leave. Sara, catching Adam's determination with equal resignation, sighed and leapt onto a low branch. She quickly imitated the lark, a bird call signaling an important meeting. Within a few minutes, the entire three score of humans in camp, a score and a half being outlaws, were milling round the campfire. A few scratched their fleas, and all watched Adam like a dangerous dog. "Well then," Will began, "let us begin the plot."  
  
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A/N: All right. I just realized that this thing is going to be pretty long. But not, like, forty chapters or anything. Eesh. That would be excessive. But a decent length. I just have too complex a plot. *sigh* I can never write a nice little short story, can I? I've always gotta go all Tolstoy on everyone. *bangs head against table* And I'm not even Russian! *sobs openly*  
  
*** Note: It is best to ignore OutlawEris when she gets like this, for in addition to not being a Russian, she is Irish, and therefore prone to the Irish exaggeration syndrome. This has been a service of the International Psychopath Monitoring Society (IPMS). ***  
  
Ha-ha. Little joke in the abbreviation. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
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	12. Into the Crash Position

A/N: I was reading over the marvelous reviews you gave me! Thank you so much! You're all so loyal! See, some of my other stories get more reviews, but have no consistent reviewers. All of you are so wonderfully loyal! Just wanted you to know that it's very, very appreciated.  
  
And I noticed that no one was very impressed with Richard. Well, have no worries, you weren't supposed to be! He's a bullying wimp who only picks on people smaller than he is. (And sometimes even they beat him up) I'm using him as a dim-witted tool for making Robin look better! *cast of characters point and laugh at Richard*  
  
Another thing I have to mention. *sighs with shame* I haven't made up a background story for my sheriff yet, like I have for everyone else, but I really liked Dragon-of-the-North's. Hmmm - but thinking of my sheriff as a possible priest. *sniggers* Definitely like it. The irony kills me.  
  
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THIRD DAY  
  
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Robin staggered back towards the door in the early morning. The sun had not even finished rising, and already they were torturing him. His vision blurred hopelessly, and he felt as if he would fall senseless. Not again.  
  
One of the guards kicked him, and he fell forward into the dungeon. It was a ways down, and he groaned painfully when his bleeding body hit the earth. Someone laughed above him.  
  
"Shall we tighten the ropes round his wrists?" he sneered. The other only laughed. "Nay, the flogging should have been enough - for now. Sheriff's got something else planned." They laughed again, indulgent in the secret jest, and Robin stared at his ropes, wondering what new agony was planned. The tighter they pulled his bonds, the less chance for his broken wrist to heal, and at the moment, it seemed that wrist would never heal. There was much more blood staining them then there had been two days ago. The guards were growing more and more brutal hourly. The skin on his back would likely never heal from the floggings he had been receiving - he winced - every six hours. Yesterday, he had even stooped so low as to beg them to stop. It had been the fourth watch, and it was obvious that they enjoyed the whipping even less than Robin. Sickly had vomited twice at the sight of so much blood, although Domineering was determined to finish his task. But Robin had begged for mercy, gasping in pain, unable to bear another wound across his back. Surprisingly, they had stopped, and all he could think of at the time was his blissful respite from suffering. But his self-disgust had run so deeply afterward that he was unable to plead again. Even the sheriff had heard of it and come down to mock him in person. Robin had endured such derision for the sake of his skin, until his rage could no longer be contained. Then he had returned the insults and earned himself two score more of the lash next flogging. Two score. Cursed sheriff.  
  
He lay his head against the wall, and felt the tears surging behind his eyes. Nay. Robin Hood did not cry. He had not sobbed since he was seven, and now was no time to begin such foolish behavior. But he was not Robin Hood. He was the scrawny peasant impersonating Robin Hood. Robin Hood was not thick enough to trust a member of the nobility. He would have known. But Robin hadn't. He had failed. The tears stung his eyes, pleading to be unleashed, but he could not cry. Instead, he began silently cursing Marian, going so far as to use Saracen and Norman French, until he ran out of insults. But thinking so often of her was crushing his heart into tiny, piercing shards that ripped through him, tearing his chest as the whip had ravaged his back. One solitary drop of saltwater penetrated his callused eye, and dropped to the moldy earth. Robin sighed wretchedly, drawing ragged breaths. One defense broken.  
  
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I rode anxiously round the gates of Nottingham Castle. The pale lights of early morning beamed down on me, and the stark brutality of the citadel behind me was somewhat offset. The light yellow glow of morning was beautifully soothing to my frazzled and tortured nerves. My horse, however, whinnied nervously at the surprise of our abrupt halt, but I quickly soothed the loyal palfrey by cooing. A stable boy appeared instantly, and took my animal's reins in his hands.  
  
Suddenly, a tortured cry rang through the air, disturbing the gorgeous glow of the scenery. I winced at the sudden scream, and my horse reared. Good God, who made that sound? I turned hurriedly to the stable boy. "Who screams so?" I asked, yanking my horse's reins out of the boy's hands in order to steady the animal. He shrugged. "It is likely Robin Hood, my lady," he replied, never meeting my eyes, "Or mayhap another one of the prisoners. Either way, 'tis a horrid sound" He cooed to the nervous horse, running his fingers along its nose, and it settled down. The boy had a way with animals, that much was easily seen. His hands dashed up and down the beast's neck, and it quieted instantly at the sound of his calm voice.  
  
The screams would not end. I tried holding both hands to my ears, but the sound permeated through such feeble defenses. I ignored the nervous steward, who began questioning me as I passed. I was oblivious to the skittish pages, who begged me to please wait before disturbing the sheriff.  
  
Instead, I flung open the doors to Nottingham's dungeons. The lord sheriff was leaning contentedly against a wall, humming to himself, arms crossed in smug self-satisfaction. The urge to clout him was so potent I could almost hear the snapping of his delicate nose bridge.  
  
"I take it you enjoy this sound?" I screeched. He grinned. The Lord Sheriff of Nottingham grinned. It was quite the disgusting sight. Sadistic reptile.  
  
"Can you have him scream any louder?" I snapped sarcastically. They had broken him. They had driven Robin to screams. The sheriff smiled again. "What a delightful proposition," he replied. He opened the door in the floor and screamed, "I want then to hear him scream in Barnsdale!" His voice was so full of merriment that it made my stomach churn. Robin immediately stopped screaming. As if he was going to be the cause of any joy for the sheriff.  
  
"Foolish whelp," the sheriff cried, "Stubborn as an ass." From somewhere below our feet, Robin made a loud hee-haw sound. I would have laughed, if my mind had not revealed to me a nasty picture of the torture going on down there.  
  
"Defiant Saxon dog!" the sheriff bellowed, "You will beg for your hanging!" Robin groaned, but still he replied saucily. "Have you not already said that line? Not very original, are we?"  
  
The whip lashed again, and he fell silent, but the sheriff's face was crimson with animosity and frustration as he stared down at his prisoner. He was not used to outright insolence from those he tormented; he was instead accustomed to pathetic weeping and desperate pleading by the second day. It would doubtless take months to conquer Robin's mulish streak, and as the sheriff gazed down, I could tell that his mind was already processing this information. And it made him furious. He kicked the door shut with a loud thud, muttering darkly to himself.  
  
I coughed delicately, attracting his attention. He peered at me, glowering as if I were Robin. And then he remembered who I was. Somehow he composed himself, erasing any trace of abhorrence from his face, and turned to me. "My lady," he said, voice breathy with anger, "have you come for your father?"  
  
"My father returned to our home last evening," I spat, "from his trip to London." The sheriff reddened, and aught but an instant later, turned ghastly white.  
  
"So you know," he murmured. You bet I knew.  
  
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Nan grinned, her eyes alight with internal fire. Her fingers ran contentedly over the outlaw's plan for infiltration. Will nodded, staring at the stick and mud sketch/model. He smiled serenely. They could actually pull it off. Sara dumped another massive bundle of arrows in the stockpile beside him. "Well, I must admit, all that accursed fletching shall pay off." She glared at Will. "But don't you dare tell Robin I said that. I should never hear the end of it."  
  
They all smiled slightly, even moody Adam, whose cap was pulled low over his eyes. David rubbed Nan's shoulder. "Are you sure you do not need to rest?" he asked her. She'd taken two watches last night, to fill in for the one that Robin usually had. She shrugged him off. "I need only payback," she murmured. David sighed. "Nan --"  
  
She stood up. "If we allow the sheriff to think we shall execute a weasel's rescue, slinking in corners and hiding from his 'mighty' soldiers, he will continue to regard us as minor pests. But if we show him what we will do if he dares cross is, he will not attack us."  
  
"Nan, you know that is inaccurate," Will replied, exasperation in his tone, "If the sheriff believes we threaten his 'supreme authority' in any way but as minor pests, he will descend upon us with a wrath. You saw how he treated Robin, and he was ONLY a minor pest." It took a great strength of will not to flinch at those words.  
  
Nan squeezed the earth of Sherwood in her fist, making another building for their plan. "He will have to find us first." Will sighed with annoyance. There was no averting Nan's opinions. She would settle her score, one way or another.  
  
"How are we going to avert the ban against weapons?" David asked, tracing a stick through the dirt, expertly changing the subject. Adam glanced upward, removing his eyes from the shadow for a minute. He had basically designed the plan for rescue, making numerous modifications to Nan's original idea, and was now content to lay back and let the others finish the idea.  
  
Sara grinned broadly at David. "That's where my genius will come in, fox," she chirped, leaping triumphantly to her feet, "Watch and learn."  
  
Sara removed the string from her bow and tucked it into her pocket. Then she leaned against her bow, dragging one foot awkwardly. In an extremely thick English accent, she murmured "Oh, please I do need it to keep myself up, you know," in a voice heavy with exhaustion.  
  
She hopped off the stick, bowing, and then hunched her back, placing one gnarled hand upon the bow and forcing her hair to hang in front of her face. "Eh, need it for my back." She placed a hand on her spine, wincing as if in pain.  
  
An instant later, she strode, using it as a man would. With her hair cut short, and now neatly behind her ears, she could easily pass for one. "It is my walking stick, you know. Came all the way from Yorkshire to see this bloody troublemaker hung. Bastard stole from my cousin. I'll be cheering when the crows get him." She laughed hoarsely, grinning obnoxiously at her own jest. Adam smirked from his corner, head bobbing imperceptibly in consent.  
  
She hopped upward. "Quite a simple thing to do, once one has the hang of it. After all, Nottingham's guards do not expect longbows. Only the Welsh have them." She winked. "They'll be looking for something shorter. Of course, a staff might be more convincing, but we must make due. Need to be able to shoot, after all. And if this charade fails, I can always knock the guard senseless."  
  
David grinned, clapping. "Clever, clever, clever, Sara!" he cried. Adam Bell commended her with a silent nod. Will smiled at her antics. Wasn't she always trying to cheer them up? Nan nodded as well, twirling a strand of her hair thoughtfully. "That is all fine, dearies, but what of the arrows?"  
  
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A/N: Again, many thanks to Eh, Man for beta-ing this story.  
  
Not my favorite chapter; I got it out too fast, I think. Well, too bad for me.  
  
And for those of you who didn't know, a score is equal to twenty. I found that out when we got the "big" dictionary. That thing has almost every word in it, I swear.  
  
Isn't it kind of funny how there was almost a lull in updates after the Harry Potter book was released? Isn't that funny? It shows what literarily obsessed losers we all are. Yay! Such a bookish little community we have here. Speaking of which, does anyone know what "git" means?  
  
And a question I need to ask you. Did they have chess in the Middle Ages? The dictionary says the word was circa 1150-1200. So, I suppose that they had it in Robin Hoodian times. 


	13. Feeble Defenses

A/N: Well, really short chapter here. Used to introduce a new character, who is completely of my own invention. Don't even try to take credit for her, Pyle. Anyways, don't worry, I added a second chapter to go with this one. Just needed to bring in my sweet little character. And a minor plot development.  
  
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The sheriff shrugged. "What matters it if I DID trick you?" he asked. I was going to knee him again. "It is not as if your precious outlaw's fate can be suddenly reversed." For some reason, I did not protest this implication. "Even his friends in the woods cannot save him now. Secrecy is of little avail at a PUBLIC hanging."  
  
"Too bad a certain one of those friends in the greenery shall remain at large, isn't it?" I sneered, twirling a strand of my long hair. The sheriff's brow lowered. "William of Norwell," he spat, disgust in every syllable. Perfect. Fall into my trap like the venomous insect you are.  
  
"And what a pity," I continued, "that our prince believes you have been gathering information about him for three months, from a captured outlaw." The sheriff caught on quickly. "You wouldn't dare -"  
  
"Oh, wouldn't I? A lady's word is never to be contradicted."  
  
I allowed a grin of wicked satisfaction to spread across my face as the sheriff reddened. "Now, you ponder that circumstance, my lord, and while you do, recall the time I told you there would be no duping me again." I paused, smiling slightly in light of my own comment. "And then recall the time I pledged to push Richard out of a window. Only Robin stopped me from doing it." I peered intently at the sheriff, allowing a single strand of hair to glide artfully in front of my face. "I doubt he shall be so inclined in regard to my vengeance upon you."  
  
The sheriff burst into merry laughter. "I doubt that as well. Those screams you heard? We used the hot iron rods on him today. He was so weak afterwards we couldn't even drag him out of the cell!" That sadistic laughter snaked through the air like poison, crawling into my ears as a million deadly spiders, mimicking his original merriment with their own high-pitched giggles. "Let us just say an outlaw fears fire for more than one reason." He laughed shortly. "He is in no condition to stop anyone from doing anything." I glowered at him. My fingers twitched towards my sword. But murder would do no one any good.  
  
"The case is not so with me," I replied.  
  
The sheriff ignored me. "In fact, he has not the strength to keep me from hanging him without his last confession. I do not believe he has been since he murdered that forester." No, really? I thought he stopped in town every few days. That----  
  
"You would send him straight to Hell!!" I screamed. Of course, I was convinced that Robin was not truly guilty, since it was a matter of kill or be killed. And in my opinion, Robin did humanity more good than the forester would have. But I could not believe what I was hearing. Did the sheriff truly loathe Robin so strongly? "What a pity," he replied sarcastically. I loathed it when he quoted me.  
  
"How could you be so cold-hearted?" I returned, "Whatever he has done to you, he does not deserve Hell, you sadistic, wicked, power-hungry, penny pinching, backstabbing, manipulating Norman! Good God!"  
  
The sheriff's wicked smirk twisted with his lips. "I have a proposition to make, my lady. You keep my secret, and I shall not send Robin Hood on the journey to Hell." I growled. I could not sacrifice Robin's soul for my own means. The weasel was willing to stoop so low.  
  
Suddenly, Robin's voice cut through the air. I had forgotten he was below us. "Marian, think of everyone in Nottingham! Let the Usurper punish him for the brainless bastard he is!" he screeched. The sheriff's lip twitched frightfully at the mention of a hanging that might stop his own breathing. "Give him a dozen more!" he roared, stomping his foot irritably against the door.  
  
Think of everyone in Nottingham? We discuss the fate of his immortal soul, and he thinks of everyone else? My stomach churned; my heart dropped; my head thickened with agony. There was no way in all of creation I could possibly condemn him. Not when he was selfless as that. As deeply as I hated the sheriff, I loved Robin far more. I brought my face back from the wooden door to face my tormentor. "Fine!" I cried, staring defiantly at him with extreme odium. He smirked. Enjoy it while you can, you fiend of Hell. Once Robin is dead, I'll spill the entire tale.  
  
Robin cried out in either protest or pain, I knew not which. "Marian, please!" he shouted, voice wracked with plaintive agony. And that was when the last shred of pleasure in my heart shattered into a thousand shreds that floated out of me with my next breath. Everything he had gone through was, in his eyes, now amounting to naught. The sheriff would survive as our county's leading official. He had my forced word, Robin's ruined body, and the peasant's undying fear to secure his position.  
  
But he would not have Will. And for that, Robin would suffer.  
  
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Aedre means "stream". It is an Anglo-Saxon name. The whole Robin Hood good guys were Saxon, so I made her Saxon, too.  
  
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I frowned maliciously and stormed into my house. I had gone to the sheriff in hopes of easing Robin's torture through blackmail, but, if I knew the sheriff, I had only made matters worse. My life is simply a study in irony.  
  
I always seemed to bring a cold wind into the house with me, for the servants shuddered when I slammed the door behind me. For an instant, I wondered if it could be my demonic scowl, but decided that it was most assuredly the night air. I would indulge myself for now. The hall fire was lit, though I had nearly blown it out in my rage. It was reasonably warm inside, due to the aforementioned blaze. I stepped into the light of the flames so that everyone could see I had arrived. The slightest twinge of fear skipped into me when I saw my father. For a moment, I had thought him to be Sir Richard. If that benevolent old knight were here, his abominable son would be as well. But it was only my father. The servants all shied away from me, and were sure to look busy as they went about their tasks, so as to escape the rage evident in my face.  
  
My cousin Aedre knew something was wrong with me as soon as I stormed into the manor. While my father waved cheerfully from the fireplace in complete oblivion, Aedre sat up from her embroidery on instant and gathered her shawl round her shoulders. "My lord," she told my father quietly, "I am going to join my lady in her chambers." My father nodded, smiling as I stormed angrily out of the room.  
  
I shooed the accursed maids from my chambers with unusual discourtesy, Aedre posing timidly behind me. She waved and chatted quietly with them as they left. A few were too jealous of her status as my cousin to even respond to her gestures. I took note of them and composed a mental note reminding myself to shoo them earlier than the rest, just so they knew how I responded to such unparalleled churlishness. But Aedre only smiled at them, kind to all with her forgiving expression. She should be canonized - St. Aedre, patron saint of those with violent impulses. Her sweet and loving nature would aid those such as me in controlling our ferocious tempers.  
  
She closed the door, humming. "Well then, my dear cousin," she asked, "What is so wrong that your blood must be boiling?" I flung open the window, rage in me. Chilled wind swept through my room, and Aedre shuddered, but she offered no protest. There was only one way to get an answer from me, and that was supreme and godly patience.  
  
"I suppose you have heard about the - the capture of Robin Hood," I commented absently. She nodded. "Such a wonderful man and such a horrible thing. They used the hot brands on him today," she replied, shuddering. "I pity him." Aedre pitied anything that could cry out in pain. My face twisted with emotion. I had already known about that, but---- my God.  
  
"And do you remember the little boy I used to run around Sherwood with?" Again Aedre nodded. "He was quite nice to me, always asking my opinion about things," she commented, "He became a forester, did he not?" I nodded dumbly, embracing the fierce pain of poisonous night wind, begging it to kill me so I would not have to bear this guilt within me. "Do you remember his name?" My voice cracked.  
  
"Rowan - no, Robert. Wait - Sparrow or something?" She paused, musing over it good-naturedly. Aedre loved a good puzzle. Suddenly, her pale face lit with revelation. "Of course!" she cried, "his name was -----" She paused worriedly, peering at me. "His name was - oh, Marian, is he truly?"  
  
"Aye," I replied bitterly, keeping both eyes fixed on the blackness of night. "He is now Robin HOOD."  
  
Aedre walked over to me and put both arms round my shoulders. "Poor Mari," she murmured, laying her compassionate head against my shoulders. I felt tears spring to my eyes, and I shoved her away. "Poor Marian? More like poor Robin. He is the one rotting in Nottingham's dungeons, wasting away to a once-loved legend. Nay - more of a once-loved fairy tale." My voice cracked with bitter cynicism. "Legends don't die." I began sobbing. I could not help it. I saw his disbelieving face, asking me to explain my horrid actions, begging me to wake him up from his nightmare.  
  
Aedre held me close and let me cry. Tears flew down my face, but Robin would not get out of my mind. My shoulders jerked up and down with a ferocious speed and I hiccupped with the force of my sadness. "Good God, I can still hear his screams," I whispered, buried in her shoulder. Aedre rocked back and forth. "Hush, dearie, hush. It is not your fault, is it?" Oh, if only she knew.  
  
Somehow I spilled the true story to my loving cousin. The whole story broke me, and I cried the entire time as I related the events. I very nearly lost all traces of dignity when I reached the memory of my part in Robin's torment. And for a moment, her kind eyes filled with loathing. I did not blame her. By the rood, my poor Robin. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed afterwards. She only held me, allowing me my sorrow despite her obvious anger. But, as usual with kindhearted, angelic Aedre, my tears drew her anger away, and she soon fell into pity. Her silence was comforting in the thickness of night, though she may not have known. It gave me time to weep without thinking. I was allowed to simply think of my own sorrow and no one else's. As shallow as it may sound, selfishness is the most comforting emotion I have ever encountered.  
  
I finally drew enough strength to pull away from her. She wiped my face affectionately with her shawl, smiling compassionately at me, like I was a five-year-old who had fallen and scraped her knee. I think that was how she smiled at everyone. "Aedre, what can I do?" I asked, sniffing despondently. She needed to help me. I was powerless. My cousin smiled with understanding. "You must help the others free him," she replied. I nodded.  
  
"That I must do. But I shall need your help."  
  
Aedre jumped. She glowered intently at her feet, wishing she were not so hesitant. She was so insecure about her own abilities, though anyone could tell she would die to help someone. For a long time, her intense grey eyes were on her feet. She must have been thinking of the consequences of her failure, the value of her success. She was measuring them against one another. Then she looked into my eyes, vigor in there I had not seen in a long time. "Well then, we should get to work." Her voice was quiet and hesitant, marked by her usual timidity. "He hangs tomorrow."  
  
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Aedre isn't quite so important as Marian's father. She's just as she seems - a timid, quiet saintly contrast to her cousin. I seem to put a lot of cousins in here. Hmm - might be because I prefer my cousins to my siblings, even though I see them nearly as often. They live next door. 


	14. Hanging Day

HANGING DAY  
  
I stood casually in the crowd, waiting with the peasants under my cloak. The hanging was taking place right outside the town gates, where the grass had been long dead, and there was already an ancient gallows erected. Usually these events were held in the inner square, but that popular gibbet was already full of swaying poacher corpses. Besides, Robin Hood's ravaged body would offer a nice warning to any visiting ruffians. I was sure that the sheriff was not too excited about the arrangement, considering he would be unable to spit upon Robin's body every day. Moreover, any criminal rescuers would have a trouble-free escape route.  
  
None of the onlookers carried weapons; those had been removed at the gate. The sky was darkening, and I knew it would rain heavily soon. There had been promise of such a storm for days now. A large number of those around me already had their hoods up. I eyed the foreboding gibbet with loathing. I would sooner place my own neck in that noose than stand with these cheering buffoons as Robin swung. How could they forget him so quickly? How many of them had he helped?  
  
There was a movement in the crowd, coming from the direction of Nottingham Castle. I saw four of Nottingham's guards, one for each corner of the podium upon which the noose was. Robin was being dragged by the first two. He could not stand on his own. His face was nearly unrecognizable, nose smashed and burn mark tearing through his appearance. What was left of his tunic was torn and ragged, hanging off him in shreds. The only thing keeping it plastered to his torso was the dried blood from his wounds holding it captive. His eyes were squinted against the unexpected light of day. The guards yanked him up onto the platform. He winced at the pain in his arms. They threw him to the floor roughly. He cried out in pain.  
  
I waited for everyone in the crowd to roar with laughter, wincing in expectation. But they said nothing. Nobody laughed. There was not a sound. I grinned to myself under the secret shade of my hood. The one time they had any entertainment and they gave it up! My eyes darted round, catching a glimpse of every single solemn face, some glowering, and feeling like the world was perfect again. My heart, leaden before, lightened. Taking a breath of this faithful air, I sensed fragments of joy returning to my heart. They had come to see a rescue, not a death.  
  
Nay, wait. A small group was snickering. Everyone else turned to glower at them.  
  
I pretended not to recognize Richard, who was leading the group. Everyone else, on the other hand, let him know bloody well they recognized and loathed his presence. Every look seemed to ask, "Why are you here?" He and his friends were the center of attention for a few moments, scores of hostile eyes beating upon them. They shut up.  
  
The sheriff came up onto the platform and kicked Robin in the side. "Stand up, outlaw," he ordered. Robin staggered to his feet, and then fell to his knees. "I cannot," he murmured, voice cracking. The sheriff burst into laughter. "Stand!" he barked again, this time sending his boot into Robin's stomach. Robin groaned so quietly I could barely hear him, and tried again. He managed by some miracle of God to stand. I thanked whoever up there helped him. Then the sheriff knocked him down.  
  
Someone in the crowd protested loudly. Others joined him in roaring at the sheriff. I had to grin. Thank heaven for loyalty. Inwardly, I flinched at my own thought. What loyalty to Robin there was, none came from me. The sheriff glowered, and kicked Robin again. "Get up," he commanded once more. Robin crawled to his knees and shook his head. "I cannot," he repeated miserably, shame written all over his expression.  
  
The largest guard finally took pity on Robin; he grabbed his arm and forced him to stay upright. This greatly annoyed the sheriff, who had heartily enjoyed publicly humiliating his prisoner. By now, Robin's eyes had adjusted to the light. He blinked, staring at the crowd. "You - you're here," he stammered. They all giggled and chuckled. Robin smiled. His lip was bleeding down his chin.  
  
Prince John was sitting in his own pompous corner of the square, smiling slightly and surrounded by guards. No one had even introduced him. I did not for a minute think it was his own humility. He was only placing huge emphasis on this stupid hanging, trying to get a message out. I glowered at him, though one face of a thousand was not going to matter to him. Next to the prince was my cousin Aedre, taking my place. She was nervously scanning the crowd, and doing everything in her power to avoid looking at Robin. The sight of him had brought her near to tears, and the sheriff's public torment had caused her to whimper in sympathy. Prince John was continually asking her what was wrong. Aedre was too compassionate for her own good sometimes, disregarding his comments with a dismissive flick of her hand. Besides which, she was searching for me. We had a plan to execute.  
  
I had not seen my outlaw friends. But I had spotted Adam Bell, the only other outlaw leader in Sherwood. What was he doing here? Did he too loathe Robin? I turned my face upward to watch Robin. His good eye fell on Adam, as mine had, and a wry smile appeared for a trice on his face. Adam nodded slightly, a smirk on his face. Friends? I was under the impression they were enemies.  
  
Prince John stood. "Keep the outlaw quiet until I say otherwise!" he bellowed. Robin whirled around to scowl fiercely at him. "I did not know that our sheriff had stooped so low in his standards as to rank wild pigs among our shire's citizens!" he cried. Robin HATED Prince John. HATED. The crowd was howling with raucous laughter.  
  
One of the shorter guards struck Robin viciously across his broken nose. Robin did not even blink. There was strength in anger, and just the sight of the usurper drove him mad. "That was a rather pathetic blow for someone in mail," he spat, though a nasty bruise was forming, in the shape of a human hand. The peasants cheered, laughing happily, and some clapping. God, I loved them.  
  
"Hang him already!" Prince John screamed, face glowing scarlet. Robin was dragged towards the noose and forced to stand upon the stool. "Any last words outlaw?" the sheriff asked, smirking. Robin smirked in return. "You'll never catch Will Scarlet!" he bellowed, curling his lip in disgust, "And I go to my death knowing I need not threaten maids to conquer my enemies." Again, the crowd chuckled. The noose was around his neck. I was crying quietly into my cloak. Not Robin. The priest stood behind the sheriff, ready to say the basic absolution. "Shall I?"  
  
The sheriff leaned towards Robin's ear. "To Hell with you," he murmured, "and say that I sent you." And he set him swinging. The fall didn't break his neck. He was too bloody light. I screamed. He'd sent him straight to Hell. The sheriff was seriously going to send him to death with that murder on his soul. By heaven. The plan had dissolved from my mind in worry.  
  
Suddenly, Aedre screamed that someone was robbing her. All eyes turned from Robin's kicking, swinging form and watched her. Adam Bell was holding a knife to her throat. God's hands! That was not part of our plan.  
  
Arrows whizzed through the air simultaneously, and Robin dropped to the ground. The largest guard sent a knife through the ropes binding his hands. This was all a bit too fast for the other three guards to register, as their bulging eyes were focused strictly on the safety of a noblewoman. For a moment, gasping Robin could not move. He posed on his knees, staring in bafflement at his livid, FREE wrists. The guard pushed him into the crowd. It was then I realized the largest guard, whose height I had recognized instantly, was Little John.  
  
Will was next to his fallen cousin in an instant. Where had he come from? I was as utterly baffled as Nottingham's guards. "Run!" he cried, grabbing Robin by the arm. And then, realizing his cousin could hardly stand, much less run, his eyes sparked with pity and he helped him to stand up.  
  
The crowd scattered, screaming and flailing, as another volley of arrows were sent into the gaps between people. I, of course, recognized one of Robin's panic instigation tactics, but the sheriff was oblivious. "GUARDS!" the sheriff screeched, "CLOSE THE GATES, CURSE YOU! AND FIND THOSE ARCHERS!" Robin, leaning heavily against Will's shoulder, practically carried, looked back. He was muttering something to Will, but the taller continually dismissed him, actually running. Will often underestimated his own strength. The gates of Nottinghamshire were closing.  
  
A flash of orange whizzed through the crowd, away from the gate, and tore towards our sheriff. "CLOSE THE GATES!" the sheriff was roaring, "CLOSE THE -" The orange flash kicked him in the throat, knocking him to the ground.  
  
Nan kept her foot on the sheriff's neck, planting him to the ground. Her wild hair had fallen from its braid and was whipping round her head in the wind. Eyes alight with hatred, she held a notched arrow two inches from his forehead. "Keep the gates open!" she ordered. Everyone froze, screams halfway through their throats, watching the peasant girl about to murder the sheriff.  
  
"Nan, don't!" someone cried, breaking the perfect silence. The words were slurred. Robin.  
  
"Kill her!" the sheriff ordered. The guards drew their swords. "They take a step and I'll kill you," Nan threatened. "Stay put!" the coward bellowed. I smiled slightly. Nan knew her man, obviously.  
  
"Now," Nan ordered, "Keep those gates open." The sheriff shook his head. Nan moved her arrow forward. "A Welsch longbow can go straight through a man at twenty times this length. I wonder how deep it should go now."  
  
"DO NOT CLOSE THE GATES!"  
  
The guards remained still and in place and the outlaws filed out. Prince John was fuming in his seat, face a shining crimson. Adam Bell, realizing his chance for escape, left Aedre, saluting to her. "My lady," he said, "You have been a great aid in this conquest." Aedre blushed. "Please refrain from doing this again," she asked. Adam Bell bowed low, winking, and stepped out the gates. Last to go was Nan, holding that arrow to the sheriff until the last. She was lucky she got him that close to her exit. A few feet more and she would have been caught. As soon as she was out, I "accidentally" triggered the lever that shut Nottingham's gates, smiling abashedly as the guards began working to open it. I was only a foolish woman.  
  
And the heavens opened up.  
  
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The rain fell in sheets. Robin drifted in and out of consciousness, slipping slowly off of Will's shoulder until he fell senseless in the mud. The outlaws were soaked to the skin, shivering.  
  
Sara bent down and propped Robin's limp form against her own soaked shoulder, draping his arm across her neck. He groaned slightly. "Hush, Robin," she ordered gently. Will immediately protested. "Nay, Sara, I should take him."  
  
Sara laughed. "He's light as thistledown, you fool," she jested. Nan sighed. "We need to find shelter. It is nearly twenty-five miles to Sherwood. We can not make it there today, you know. Robin's looking bad enough as the weather is now." She had calmed down now that Robin was safe. In fact, she was nearly back to her normal, caring self.  
  
She sighed and bent down. "I can't take this anymore," she muttered. She lifted her dress to the knees. She bent down and removed the quiver strapped round her leg. "By the rood, was that uncomfortable," she muttered, "but I'll admit that it worked." Sara laughed. "Aye, and it is quite a wonder it did. Poor Gatty was making quite a clank. If it weren't for her leaning on that staff, they would've suspected something. As it was, they thought it was the clunk of her lame foot."  
  
Will nervously watched his cousin, who was slowly coming to. Sara smiled encouragingly. "Cold out, isn't it, master?" she cajoled. Robin snorted, bemused but tired. "Aye, serf," he mumbled, clutching her sleeve. Sara giggled. 'Well, at least he hasn't lost his lack of wit." Robin smiled, one good eye open now. He was trying to walk on his own, but he kept staggering. Sara always caught him when he fell, putting his arm back around her neck kindly. Will looked like he wanted to carry Robin in his arms like a babe, but he knew full well his cousin's pride would not allow that, though Will was sure his condition warranted it.  
  
"You and Nan discuss where we go there, Will, my boyo," Sara commanded, shifting Robin's arm to keep him upright, "I'll take care of portly over here." She gestured towards Robin. Everyone laughed.  
  
"We're going to Sherwood," Robin snapped, jerking his head upward. Will sighed. "Robin, you won't make it the next fifteen miles." Robin shook his head angrily. "We will not go to Sir Richard!" he cried. The exertion of yelling sapped his little energy, and he fell back on Sara's waiting shoulder, breathing heavily. Dozens of worried eyes watched him. Sara put an arm around his waist to help keep him standing, and forced his head onto her shoulder.  
  
Nan grinned, thumping Robin on the shoulder. "Hadn't even considered that. Thanks." Robin shook his head. "We most certainly will n-"  
  
Sara slammed her fist into his head as hard as she could. Robin slumped, and his eyes closed. "That ought to shut his mouth for now," she commented dryly.  
  
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Sir Richard's head cook came to the door of her kitchens. "No beggars," she barked. David stopped the door with his foot, showing her his most charming smile. "Not beggars," he corrected, gesturing towards the immobile Robin, who was currently senseless and held in his cousin's arms. The cook screamed. "Outlaws!"  
  
Sir Richard of the Lea was there in a trice. "Pardon?" he asked, his head coming out the door. Sara smiled. "Good day, my lord. Perhaps we can sleep in the kitchen tonight? He needs warmth to heal." She waited, staring intently at the lord of the Lea. "Oh," she added, staring at Robin's completely unrecognizable face, "He's Robin Hood."  
  
Sir Richard opened the door and the entire band of outlaws filed in. Nan smiled, rubbing her shoulders and basking in the newfound warmth of a fire. They could not light fires at night in Sherwood, because it would be suspicious. Everyone else shared her glee in this rare treat. The cook sighed. "You can warm up, but then you're getting out, understood?" she barked. The wolf's heads nodded obediently.  
  
"I - well, you may stay here, of course, but I am having half the nobility in the shire here tonight for a celebration, and it may be dangerous for you to be here," Sir Richard called, shutting the door behind them. Sara's head jerked up. "We - we should not be here. We endanger him," she hissed to Will. He looked down at Robin and shook his head. "We have to risk it." He gently placed his cousin in a corner by the fire, smiling with satisfaction.  
  
"Thank you, Sir Richard," Nan called, "We only need tonight, and we will leave tomorrow, early in the morn." Robin glowered ferociously at her from the corner where he'd been dropped. "We'll leave NOW," he snapped.  
  
Sara raised her fist. "When did you wake up?"  
  
"A few moments ago - and Will, I told you not to carry me."  
  
"Do not force me to knock you senseless again," she barked. Robin scowled intensely at her, black clouds in his one open eye. "You just adore inconveniencing people, don't you?" he sneered. Sara rolled her eyes at him. "Please ignore the pest in the corner, my lord," she said to Sir Richard, smiling.  
  
Sir Richard smiled in return. "Well, we shall have to forgive him, since he is incapacitated. And if I remember correctly, Robin cannot for the life of him handle lying still." He raised an eyebrow at Robin, who pretended not to catch the gesture, and was instead fiddling with the frayed edges of his tunic. But Sir Richard continued staring intently at him, and finally he jerked his head up. "Aye, my lord?" he asked, pleasant as ever.  
  
Sara was fuming at this sudden show of geniality. Sir Richard smiled cordially. "Nothing," he replied happily. Robin nodded solemnly. "Thank you again, my lord," he said, "I did not mean to sound ungrateful."  
  
"Well, you did," Sara snapped at him. Robin pretended not to hear her.  
  
Sir Richard nodded. "Well, this house is, in all technicality, yours," he replied. Robin shook his head fervently. His head spun. They had had this argument before. "Nay. It is yours. It always has been, and shall be until your death. It was only stolen from you, and I merely stole it back." Sara grinned roguishly, remembering. Sir Richard had been in debt, as he was required to pay the blood money for a man his son, also Richard, killed. But he could not pay, and the sheriff and bishop were threatening to take his lands away. On the day they were due to strip kind Sir Richard of his domain, Robin had shown up, hair dyed blonde by some infernal flower, and thrown double over the amount owed at the sheriff's feet, smirk on his face and mocking laughter in his voice. He called it payment for past kindness. The other outlaws did not understand, but Sir Richard had. And he had smiled gratefully. Now, Sir Richard sighed. "Yet --"  
  
"Besides, it was not only I doing the robbing. The others actually did more than I did."  
  
Sara quickly interrupted their debate. "So it belongs to neither of you, but to every fat pig that had the rotten luck to use the Nottingham High Road that particular month," she snapped, 'Since it is their money that paid for its return."  
  
Robin smiled weakly, and Sir Richard laughed aloud. "A witty maid," he told her. Sara shrugged. "Thank you, my lord," she replied happily, bowing. Then she smirked childishly at Robin. "Beat that, fiend!" she snapped.  
  
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	15. We're Having a Ball Now, Aren't We?

A/N: I wanted to reply to all you reviewers last time, but fanfiction.net wouldn't let me. Every time I made a line of stars (******), the bottom half of the document would be the only part to come up. *rolls eyes* But I shouldn't make excuses. *shrug* I will anyways!  
  
Sorry I took so long to update. Had to go on vacation. Anyways, this time around, everyone gets an imaginary present for their sweet reviews! (Yep, I was bored yesterday) In addition to these personal gifts, you all get a hug from Robin for being nice to him, because I'm certainly not.  
  
Meryan o' hood - I AM so mean to Robin, aren't I? This story will definitely end happily, though, I can give that much away. You love it when I tell you the plot, don't you? For reviewing, you get a spam-free crystal ball!  
  
Eh, Man - I am glad that you got my joke. I always put really corny puns everywhere, and no one gets them. *holds up hands in defense* Please not the prodding! LOL. Anyways, I'm very glad that you like my portrayal of the outlaws. It took me forever to try and give them all different little personalities. I kept ending with three people just like Sara, or Nan or something. I dropped a bunch of characters. Thank you for answering my question. The Egyptians had chess? That' so cool. Did they call the king "pharaoh" or something? LOL. For reviewing, you get a magical goat with anti-flamer battering horns!  
  
Feye Morgan - oh, yes! Escaflowne is a wonderful show! Only saw it once or twice, but I was still amused. Liked your fanfiction about it, too. Hee- hee. Macbeth by Escaflowne. Sorry, I really liked that. "Macbeth doesn't wear frilly shirts with puffy sleeves." Thank you so much for reviewing. You're so consistent and loyal. You get an attack-copy of Macbeth that can harass your enemies!  
  
Indigo Dream - I'm glad you like my messenger's accent. I'm really lame at inserting comic relief, so I was hoping that would work. *did I just say lame?* Anyways, you poor thing! A summer job? Well, there is a nice cash flow going on, I hope. The minimum wage is up by a nickel or something, if that's any comfort. A shiny new nickel for everyone! For reviewing, you get an obedient clone to take your place at work (in addition to that pristine nickel)!  
  
Dragon-of-the-North - (Who writes the most wonderfully long reviews!) Oh, you like my Will! I was so afraid that everyone would think he was a loser, since Christian Slater's angst-ridden character seems to draw so much appeal. And Robin IS an anxious little sot; so worried about everyone, because he has a major guilt complex (result of extreme insecurity and murdering someone and all). And you like my sheriff! I love scheming villains - Alan Rickman was positively hilarious! They had to cut out some of his lines, so that the sheriff wouldn't be the favorite character. *didn't work* And Marian did not get her temper from her father, but she did get her brains from him. The outlaw society is my grand forte? *squeal of delight* You get a magical genie with three wishes (yes, you can ask for more wishes) for making me so happy!  
  
Ruby - I am not exactly a regular updater, I'll admit it. And I'm sorry that I made you sick to your stomach when I revealed the sheriff's wicked dupe. Well, Adam Bell was actually this lethal, ruthless outlaw some historians suspect was actually Robin Hood. I wish I had made him up, though. He's so cool. You have awful heat, too? Thank heavens I'm not alone in my misery. Anyways, I am rather cruel, aren't I? But thank you for answering my question about chess. Cards are cool, too. For reviewing, you get a rain-cloud making blanket from England! When you put it on, rain clouds form and rid you of any heat crisis.  
  
Keyblade Mistress - Thank you for the constructive criticism. I haven't gotten any insofar, and it was very helpful. It's weird, but I like constructive criticism. It gets my competitive edge going, for some reason. Yes, I do need my head examined. For your reviews, you get Hermes' sandals, which I stole from Mount Olympus!  
  
Anwyl - I like the name. Very Celtic sounding. You read the whole thing straight-through? Wow. I can usually only take five chapters at a time of something. I'm glad you agree with me about David of Doncaster needing a personality. David's my little player. I made him a lady's man. LOL. You get a magic carpet with French chauffeur!  
  
Rhapsody - Another great pen name. I feel so unoriginal with mine when I see all these cool pseudonyms. Hee-hee. You called Marian "Miriam". LOL. No, but that's okay. Once I typed "Martian" and forgot to change it. So glad you like this! Crazy for more? Man, you know how to make me happy! You get a set of lavender anti-typo gloves! (also available in pale pink and lime green).  
  
Byrdgirl- I just realized how much I like the way you spell "bird" in your pen name. But anyways, thank goodness I have a partner in crime! Everyone else feels sorry for Robin. And, when Marian called the sheriff "sirrah", she was trying to insult him, so the derogatory thing was meant. You get to work at a Renne Faire? I wanted to, but my schedule got in the way. Glad you like it! (Oh, and try to update your story soon, eh? *wink wink*) For your reviews, you get a cage full of sky blue plot bunnies!  
  
*** *** *** *** *** ***  
  
Get ready to hate Marian---  
  
**********  
  
Sir Richard was throwing a party for some reason. He claimed it was to celebrate my betrothal to Richard, but if it were, he held this gala a few years too late. However, Aedre was exultant at this chance to bedeck herself in flowers and to wear one of my finer gowns. She was positively ravishing in blue.  
  
"Oh, Marian, I fear I am too plain for such fine attire," she whispered breathlessly, on the occasion of her first donning my dress. "Never," I replied, smiling as she twirled round in the skirts. Aedre laughed and held out her hand. "May I have this dance, my fine lady?" she asked. I could not bear to quell her remarkably high spirits. I giggled flirtatiously. "Well - my lord - I do not know if I should. I have a betrothed you know, and ----" I giggled foolishly once more, holding my fingertips against my lips. Aedre laughed. "Mari, you play the dumb coquette so WELL!" She laughed again, and collapsed into a chair, still giggling loudly. I smiled tolerantly and stared at myself in the hand mirror.  
  
I was far more attractive than Aedre, or so I had been told. So I pretended I could look any more beautiful than that merry, sweet expression. After all, I had a rather odd sense of beauty. When I was younger, I had believed Robin to be the most handsome boy in all of England. Later, I discovered that was hardly the opinion of the majority. I sighed, dropping the hand mirror into my lap. It was because I loved him. I always had and always-  
  
My senses overcame me. Nay! Nay! Nay! It was only because --- I only THOUGHT I loved him. Of course that was the answer. I had adored him because there was nothing better around. That was all. He was the only one who treated me with respect. He must have been the worst of the polite boys. Aye, the very worst. That was it. I just needed to meet the better side of considerate men. Aye. And I would do it tonight. Sir Richard had guests from Barnsdale and Ashfield and Gedling - all manner of places. He was a popular person, being kind as he was.  
  
My hair was let down for the occasion, still damp from its recent scrubbing. I was wearing a deep green dress that supposedly highlighted my eyes. Aedre sighed wistfully. "Marian, you are the most beautiful girl in all of Nottingham," she told me.  
  
I did not feel it. Standing in a room full of coquettes and young lords, I felt rather out of place. A great many of the young men had come and asked me for a go round the dance floor, and I had agreed to every one. Rejection plagued people so, though I never understood why. And then the most gorgeous human being in creation came up to me.  
  
He had deep blue eyes and blonde hair - hair so fair it could have been white. And he was asking me for a dance. In a daze straight from a fairy tale, I was complimented and respected and cherished for nearly five dances. Of course, no one really noticed that I was completely ignoring my betrothed. We put up no false pretences of matrimonial affection. So, my dancing continually with this charming example of man was of little amazement. This is it, I told myself; this is what the better side of men is like. Robin was nothing compared to this new man, this Edward fellow. And Edward liked me. He very nearly seemed to adore me. I grinned and he grinned. I laughed and he laughed. And my heart stopped beating.  
  
When things grew rather quiet, we would keep our merriment to a lower level, though he continued grinning madly as if he were still laughing raucously. I felt like I was in love. He was so wonderful, respecting my opinions, and complimenting me, and he was wonderfully interesting. I was happily surprised to learn of his lack of betrothal. It was during one of those more quiet moments that he drew me in for a kiss, and I knew that the moment of my greatest ecstasy had come.  
  
**** *** **** **** **** **** **** *****  
  
Edward and I locked lips, and the world stopped spinning. But only for a moment. And that was when I realized I did not love him. This kiss should have been fiery and passionate and full of everything. But it did even match the feeling of running my fingers against Robin's face.  
  
We pulled apart, and his face said the same as mine. This was not love. He blushed furiously, as did I. I smiled bashfully and led him towards Aedre, hoping no one had noticed our brief indulgence. He seemed to agree with me. Aedre was staring at me in surprise, as if unsure that this could be happening to her. She could not believe my actions. I had the pinnacle of man beside me, and he had just finished kissing me. I only smiled and shrugged. No one, I realized suddenly, was ever going to be half so perfect as Robin.  
  
"Edward, this is my cousin Aedre. I have been waiting quite some time to introduce her to you."  
  
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***  
  
The celebrations, it seems, ran far longer than Sir Richard had expected. He tried to send a message to his rather drunken guests that it was quite finished by summoning both Richard and me to the center of the room and declaring our betrothal "permanent and steadfast." Perfect choice of words. Permanent because the only thing to break it was death. And steadfast because its foreboding presence lingered eternally upon my mind. He used no lightening phrases such as "passionate' and "long-awaited." He knew better than that. He knew, well as I, that Richard was often seen flirting with and kissing other women. I would need to fix that once we were wed. That is, if I allowed him to live long enough to wed me. There were a great many things I should change one the churl was my husband. For instance, if he thought he was going to beat me, he had another thought coming. Will and Robin had trained me to defend myself quite well, and I could knock Richard out if he dared touch me. (I had already tried it once, much to Will's amusement, and Robin's dismay) And despite this thorough thrashing, I did not doubt that my betrothed was moronic enough to try and hit me. Bring it on, lackwit.  
  
Of course, in front of dozens of noble personages, I could not glower ferociously at him and warn him to keep off me. Or even better, fling my engagement ring off and feed it to the dogs. Or whip out my sword and chase him round the room, howling like a wild woman. Well, one must make some sacrifices, I suppose. Instead of delighting myself, I giggled femininely and cast coquettish glances in his direction. And of course, he was indeed the most drunk at the gathering. His father, the older Sir Richard, appeared near to puking from shame. I wanted to tell him it was no fault of his own the churl acted as he did, but again the crowd was present. Richard kissed me sloppily and I kissed him in return, much to the pleasure of the aforementioned presence. Then I ran to the window and vomited.  
  
However, the imbecile multitude did not disperse, and soon it grew too late to send them home. So the entire assemblage of merchants and nobility were sleeping at Lea. Some were sprawled across chairs, and the lucky few had snagged beds. Aedre and I were one of these fortunate.  
  
And so we were both sharing a bed with my other four maids, still in our party dresses. Aedre was snoring slightly, while someone out in the hall was flaring his nostrils and grinding his teeth until such a racket was raised that one of his fellow stragglers woke him up and told him to go bother someone else with his infernal noise.  
  
I was having a pleasant dream about a talking fox. I often had strange animal dreams. It was an adorable, witty little thing. Suddenly, an arrow flew through the air and hit it square in the chest. The tiny thing screamed and screamed, and it sounded so human. I was screaming, "Why won't it die?" and sobbing because it looked so pitiful.  
  
I sat bolt upright, breathing desperately. Sweat ran in rivers down my forehead, but I had not been screaming. That was obvious, for Aedre was only just stirring. Even the slightest motion of mine would jar her in this crowded position. A scream would have woken her up long ago.  
  
Someone ELSE was screaming. It was a cry torn with agony and pain and fear, and my blood froze upon hearing it. Aedre apparently caught wind of it too. She joined me in sitting upright. "What is it, Mari?" she whispered, wrapping both arms around one of mine, "Who screams?"  
  
I shrugged, but the voice was so infernally familiar. I struggled with my porous mind, trying to draw out the strand of aural memory that would allow me to recall the face that belonged with that voice. But, due to the late hour and my swimming head, my memory only stuck its tongue out at me.  
  
I leapt out of the bed. "Come, Aedre. We are going to find out who the screeching buffoon is," I commanded. She timidly lowered her petite feet onto the icy floor. I used my disgustingly lengthy toes as hooks, and groped along the dark floor until I banged into the candle. "Baha!" I cried triumphantly, and bent to retrieve it. Aedre stood patiently, rubbing her cold shoulders, as I managed to light it.  
  
She smiled at the sudden appearance of warmth. "Well, I was hoping you weren't drunk enough to try and search in the dark."  
  
"Aedre, I am NOT Richard."  
  
She tittered softly and trailed after me as we left the room. The stairs were cold and the rushes were clinging like night wraiths, trying to extinguish our tiny light. Aedre clung miserably to my arm, whimpering slightly at every movement. I forced myself to stand proudly, despite my fear. I had to be strong for both of us.  
  
I tripped over someone's sprawled, drunken body and almost dropped the candle. Aedre squealed and released my arm so I could catch our fallen light. After I had regained control of our candle, we continued. The scream was coming from the kitchens.  
  
I heard it so close. Aedre's face blanched. "Mari, listen. The poor thing," she hissed compassionately. I nodded. A few moments later, I paused in fear. Whatever was causing that person to scream could get us if we weren't careful. I peered nervously through the pitch of night and found two drunks sleeping on a chair by the kitchen door. I grinned and handed Aedre my candle. She did not question. I used all my strength to knock their limp forms off of the chair. Then I reclaimed my candle. "If someone sees us," I whispered to my cousin, "We're going to collapse onto that chair and pretend that we are drunken, sleeping fools. All right?" She nodded nervously and squeezed my hand. I squeezed hers in return and grinned encouragingly. In the eerie candle glow, I must have appeared to be a ghoul. But Aedre drew strength from my scary grimace somehow. She followed me through the kitchen door standing upright.  
  
There were quite a few bodies spread about the floor of this room. Aedre stumbled over someone. The screaming was really loud by now. I lifted the candle above my head and saw who was screaming.  
  
Robin lay in the corner, curled and writhing in his sleep and screaming with all his might. His already bloody face was scraping against the wall as he wailed in agony. The other outlaws must have been incredibly tired not to have heard him. Aedre gasped. "Mari, it's ---" I clamped a hand over her mouth. Someone was moving.  
  
I blew out the candle and dashed through the door, dragging Aedre with me. I flung my body onto the chair and Aedre landed on my hip. "Close your eyes," I ordered, "Remember, we're asleep." She dropped her head to the side, and I went into my pose as well.  
  
A few seconds later, Robin stopped screaming. I heard him gasping from my position. I also heard Will and Sara. "Someone was in here, Sara," Will said, obviously trying to keep Robin from hearing him, "I just need a candle."  
  
"I'm sorry, Will, I didn't mean to. I don't know what hap--" That was Robin. "It's fine, Rob," Will replied, sounding relieved, yet still worried. "There's a candle by my hand," Robin murmured, "if you need a light." There was a scrabbling sound and then a scratch and Will cried out happily. "Good show, Robin! I wouldn't have thought you could light it on the walls!"  
  
A few seconds later, Will came through the kitchen door. I felt the hot light of the candle on me as he scoured the darkness with his eyes. I could tell that Sara grabbed it from him, because the light lessened, and she swore. "Candle's burning my bloody hand," she cursed. "Look," Will hissed. I knew he was pointing at me. An instant afterwards, I felt cold steel at my throat. "I could kill her right now," he whispered venomously, "She's so close --- so close." The steel at my throat trembled furiously. Sara sighed loudly. "Will, stop. We cannot slaughter her now. They would suspect Sir Richard. We cannot hurt our supporter." She paused. "Who's that next to her?"  
  
"That's Aedre, her cousin."  
  
"Must be a saint to live with that--- er, I won't foul the air!"  
  
"Will?" Robin's nervous voice came from the kitchen. "Coming, Rob. I can't find anyone," Will replied, removing the steel from my throat. I exhaled a bit more heavily in relief. Robin replied, "That is fine, Will. No news is good news, eh? And we'll be long gone by morning, before those drunken fools awake."  
  
"Should we tell him about her?" Sara hissed. Will shook his head. I heard his hair brushing his shoulders. "Nay. She has caused him enough pain." I felt his loathing eyes bore through me with their hatred. He wanted to kill me. I could read how badly he wanted to hurt me, and my senses trembled with fear. Will never forgave anyone. I had not once seen him tell someone their apology was accepted. And I doubted he would accept mine.  
  
*** *** *** *** *** ****  
  
Before the sun had risen, I forced myself to stir. Aedre felt my movements and sat up. "Where are you going, Mari?" I looked at her face. She smiled with all the trust in the world in her lips. "I - I'm going to see the outlaws leave," I murmured. The innocent smile was replaced by a worried frown. "That is too dangerous!" she cried. There was a whimper in her voice. I reassured her with a quick smile. "I will be fine, Aedre. I just - I need to see him one last time."  
  
Aedre giggled, but there was no mirth in her laugh. "Oh, Mari. It is not as if he has died, eh?" she asked. Her smile was stretched with tension. I shrugged and stood up. "He may as well be dead to Nottingham," I replied. Before she could follow, I was out the door.  
  
In the approaching morning light, Sir Richard's home was far more cheery. It did not have that abandoned haunt of spooks appearance that I had seen so clearly last night. In fact, it was rather peaceful. There were movements in the kitchen that I could hear from where I was. And I knew that even the kitchen scullions were not awake this early. The sun was barely above the horizon.  
  
The first voice I heard was Sara's. "Robin?" she called, "Wake up." He groaned, but I knew he would stand. Will was muttering names, and I heard a chorus of yelps as he kicked the less lively of the group. "Will," Robin muttered, words still slurred. There were no more yelps.  
  
"Don't be soft, Robin," Sara snapped, and I heard another yelp. "Soft as your mind?" Robin sneered. Sara replied, "At least I have a mind." Will took advantage of Robin's pause and intervened quickly. "Do you have to argue with him when he's like this?" he snapped, guiding Sara towards the door.  
  
"Of course I do. It's the way he conceals his emotions."  
  
"Excuse me?" I could tell that Will was thinking of the scores of times Robin had bantered with him.  
  
"Obviously, Will. I can't believe you didn't notice it."  
  
"I - I didn't know that."  
  
"Well, be alerted. He's going to be awfully sarcastic with all the pain he's in. Just go along with him."  
  
There was the sound of many tramping footsteps. They were leaving through the other door! I would miss them. I pressed my ear against the door. One last time to hear his voice. One last time.  
  
They were gone. I flung the door open and leapt into the kitchen. I stumbled over sleeping scullions and threw myself against the door. I could still hear them. They were arguing.  
  
"We must take the road!"  
  
"Nay! The woods!"  
  
"Robin, you won't be able to keep your feet quiet."  
  
"I can!"  
  
"You can barely stand."  
  
"Liar!"  
  
"Then stand - on your own."  
  
There was a slight thud. Robin had fallen. I could imagine his embarrassment. Robin had always prided himself on his strength in the face of dire straits. It was the only thing he had that the rest of his family never did. Collapsing like that must have been hell for him.  
  
I guess Will sensed his embarrassment, because he intervened. "David, don't torment him," he ordered. "But - I - he --" David stammered helplessly. "We'll take the road, Robin, and not another word about it," Will continued, in typical older cousin fashion.  
  
But Robin exploded. "You idiots! Simpletons! By God, LEAVE me if you are going to be so stupid as to take the road! It is better you never came! Go through the woods, by heaven! You can't mean to seriously travel IN THE OPEN! What have I been teaching you?" There was another thud, and I suppose he collapsed again.  
  
I heard another noise, the rumbling of something rather rickety. Maybe a wagon? "Hello, my friends!" a merry voice called. Robin swore, and the noises of movement stopped.  
  
"Take it he's been whipped?" A new voice, I suppose belonging to the man in the carriage, asked.  
  
"Nay. He fell into a puddle," someone snapped in reply, voice dripping with sarcasm.  
  
"Do you people need a ride?"  
  
The sudden friendliness of the comment helped me to recognize who it was. Adam Bell. I had only heard his voice a few times, but it was hard to mistake that mocking tone for anyone else. Robin swore mercilessly. "Adam, you as much a fool as they are and that is an awful password. Any bumpkin simpleton could easily guess who we were and what we were doing!" he spat. Adam laughed. "Ah, my bleeding heart, are we feeling miffed about our injuries?" he inquired sarcastically.  
  
"Go throw yourself off a bridge - it will be a quicker end than that offered by the sheriff!"  
  
Will, I suppose, led everyone onto the wagon. "Robin is feeling a little under the weather," he told Adam. I heard more colorful language springing from Robin's all too quick tongue. But Adam only laughed again. "I didn't know that word," he said. Sara cackled. "Eh, if you can teach Adam Bell a curse, Robin, you've done your job." And the wagon sprang into action.  
  
Giving myself due credit, I managed to wait for thirty seconds before throwing the door open. I saw the wagon, cleverly disguised as a performing troupe's wagon. "Do I really want to know how you got this cart, Adam?" Robin asked. All I heard in reply was a hoarse, rolling laugh. And my eyes welled with tears. I would never see Robin again. Never would I hear his laugh. Never match his smile with my own. Never touch his face - his hand, his hair. Never argue. Never - oh, there were so many little things that flew through my mind - so many wonderful things. I had given up my fantasies of childhood. I did not still believe that both Robin and I could become knights. I had even discarded the idea that I could easily cancel my engagement to Richard. But I had never abandoned the dream of marrying Robin. Until now.  
  
And then I thought of all my other friends - and all the little things surrounding them. I was going to lose so much.  
  
In an uncharacteristically girlish display, I raced from the scene, sobbing beyond all consolation.  
  
*** *** *** *** *** ***  
  
A/N: I'm so cruel to put Marian through all those random emotional traumas in one night. But, anyways, to throw myself completely off the subject - has anyone read this really awesome Pride & Prejudice fanfiction? It's called "Never Better". Really funny - modern P&P in Boston. Told the author I'd advertise it. Plus, me likes the tale.  
  
And you know how everyone thinks fanfiction is never published? Well, there's this new bestseller out called "Ahab's Wife", about Captain Ahab's (of Moby Dick) wife. I just thought that was really cool and all. Had to make myself chipmunk giddy. Spread the joy. 


	16. Feverish Concern

***** **** ****  
  
A/N: I had major trouble writing this chapter, because I was fitting a lot of info in a little space. Why else, you ask? Because I am almost finished writing the story! There are like, 29 chapters. Not bad for me. I tend to go on too long. And I was so busy scribbling down the ending that I kind of forgot to work on this and make it sound nice. It took a lot of Alanis Morrisette and Matchbox 20 to get this finished. Music inspires me, but my poor CD player did some overtime. I'm still not proud of it, but I can like it.  
  
Anyways, I need your opinions. I like ending stories with little Latin quotes, because it makes me feel special, OK? So, I'm wondering which one you think I should use to end this one. I narrowed it down to three from my collection of five.  
  
There's "Ave atque vale" (means "Hail and farewell") or "vita non est vivere sed valere vita est" (means "life is more than merely staying alive") or "Aeternum vale" (means "Farewell forever") If anyone's got some suggestions of their own, go ahead and tell me. Those are only a few I picked out from my own collection. (Remember, I DO only have five of them! Hee-hee) Now Robin has his last painful experience (yay!), and Will nearly has a heart attack as a result. After this, he'll be good. (Even if he gets the fever *of course I'm not telling* he'll probably be delirious, so no more suffering there!)  
  
***** **** ***  
  
A sennight later, there was fog everywhere in Nottingham. Everyone was on the edge, especially the foresters. They were itching to catch an outlaw. I figure I would be too, if I had stripes laid upon my back every time there was a robbery. That was what had really gotten to Robin about being an outlaw. Some of those foresters had been his friends, and now they were out for his head.  
  
The sheriff was in a horrible mood. He kicked at every dog, struck at every servant, and bellowed at every messenger. The fog did NOT help his mood. If anything, it made him angrier. He rode out to Sherwood every day to scream at the Chief Forester and beat the foresters. It didn't work. They still couldn't find Robin's outlaws. They did manage to catch seven poachers, though. It amused me to see the powerful sheriff in such a state. It also pleased me that Robin was probably half-dead for most of the time, yet still able to best the sheriff. That had the peasants of Nottingham laughing for weeks afterward.  
  
In this thick fog, I slipped from the manor house, fully dressed and cloaked. I crept easily past the few guards we had. They were too tired to resist slumber for any matter of time when it was so early. And I did not hold it against them. Whoever wanted to attack my home at THIS hour could go ahead and try. I could handle them. Our old steward had remarkable skill with the candelabra. He'd managed to knock five robbers senseless with it, all by himself. And our head cook was a menace with the broom. Just ask the kitchen lads.  
  
It was lucky that I did not live in Nottingham, else it would have been quite the trek to arrive at Sherwood. But since my manor was closer to the forest than that, I only had to travel across my father's lands to reach the woodland.  
  
I entered the trees and followed the path I knew so well. As I meandered around the ancient yews and oaks, I noticed that there was evidence of passage littered everywhere. New outlaws. I figured that it was Will who had taken them out, because beside the clumsy footprints were the marks of a larger, almost indiscernible, foot. Robin left no traces whatsoever, so I could never tell if he was the one who took them out to learn the way back to camp. It was eerie, but worked very well when new outlaws whined about how "no one can be that secret". Robin would get up and smile. "Well, maybe you're better trackers than tracked, eh? I am going to walk in a straight line from camp. See if you can tell which way I took." It seemed easy enough, especially when he smiled innocently like he did. Straight lines were the simplest to track. They fell into the trap consistently. They would come back hours later, still unable to find which one was touched by Robin's feet. Only Robin could find traces of his passage.  
  
I heard voices. A lot of swearing, some yelling, and Sara's voice above all, demanding quiet and order. I moved still closer. Robin would collapse if he knew how easily I had escaped his sentries. It was his own fault, though. I had told him time after time that the eastern side had a sentry loophole in it, but he was as movable as a stone. Of course, there was only a loophole when David was on watch, because he tried to flirt with Ellie, something I hadn't brought up. Maybe if I had he would have listened to me.  
  
I walked noiselessly forward until I was at the very edge of camp. In front of me was an impressive oak. On one side of this oak, it was untouched forest. Beyond this perimeter of tree was the robbers' clearing. I crawled into the oak and peered into the camp.  
  
*** *** *** ***  
  
Robin was still a serious mess. Even through the leaves at this distance I could tell that. His face was unrecognizable as ever, and he was having trouble breathing. He was hunched over at the edge of camp, under a tree and wrapped in a blanket.  
  
He bent over and vomited for the third time that day. His hair still had the appearance of an abandoned bird's nest, though Will was constantly saying that even the birds would refuse that disarray. It fell into his face and was covered in puke.  
  
He groaned and clutched his stomach. The upheaval of his insides reopened the wounds from my sword, and now his hands were bloody. I winced for him. Sara swore loudly enough for any forester within ten miles to hear. She dropped her fletching and ran over to him. He tried to push her away, but his arms were too weakened by the stay in the dungeons. She flung his arm out of the way and knelt beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked, pushing his hair out of his face. He nodded dumbly, and then retched again.  
  
Sara ran fingers through his hair. "Hush," she murmured, as he began to groan again. He threw up three or four more times before his stomach finally rested. "By God, what did you eat?" she asked angrily, fumbling in her pockets to find something she could tie his hair back with. He shrugged. "Nothing."  
  
"Nothing? You idiot! For how long?"  
  
"Not my fault if the Sheriff refused to feed me."  
  
Sara sighed, catching sight of his hands. "For how long?"  
  
"Well, how long was I in the dungeon, lackwit?"  
  
Sara gave him one of her most annoying suspicious looks. It was one of those gazes that seemed to be condescending and equal at the same time. "You know bloody well what I mean," she snapped, eyeing him warily.  
  
"Seven days."  
  
"Seven days? You blundering idiot! That better be counting the days in the dungeon!"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
She cursed. "I swear I'd knock you if you weren't so hurt already," she promised. Robin puked again, nothing surfacing but yellow bile, which landed pathetically in his lap. My pity ran so deeply for him right then that I almost felt like vomiting myself. Sara obviously forgot his stupidity in light of her sympathy, for she murmured something soothing to him, immediately forgoing her anger, and he only moaned. I felt like the dirt beneath their feet. That was my fault. My fault! I buried my eyes in my knees for shame. How many nights had I spent berating myself over this as sleep evaded me, yet it still ached as if Robin were pointing a critical finger at me.  
  
"Why is your tooth chipped like that?" Sara asked quickly, pointing to a broken tooth near the front of Robin's mouth. One way to make people forget their pain was to change the subject, and Sara was a master of the art. Robin smiled slightly, looking quite satisfied with himself. "I bit him," he replied, clinging to his stomach. "Bit whom?" Sara asked, blinking in bemused surprise. His grin grew even wider. "I bit one of the guards. Forgot he had chain mail on, though." Sara laughed loudly. "Quite the rebel, aren't we?" she commented, ripping a piece off of her dress to clot Robin's wounds. He nodded slowly. "Jackass to the end," he said, "It's in the family blood."  
  
Will joined them, looming protectively over his cousin. Robin looked up at him and smiled frailly, then threw up on his own shoulder. Will flinched when his cousin vomited, and his face twisted with concern. Robin looked up at him plaintively. "I'm sorry, Will," he murmured. Will arched both his eyebrows. "Sorry?"  
  
"I failed all of you. I screamed when they flogged me, you know." Sara rolled her eyes dismissively, giving up the search through her pockets. "And it was only two score lashes!" Robin cried, as if he were yelling at himself, "I begged them to stop; I did! I disgraced you all with my cowardice." He stared at the ground in shame, so convinced of his own worthlessness. Robin had prided himself on his ability to resist crying out. And now he'd pleaded with his tormentors - begged like a beaten dog. In his eyes it was a momentous, indefensible failure. Sara ripped the sleeve from her dress and held it against his bleeding stomach to clot the opened wounds.  
  
Will shook his head. "You don't need to apologize for anything, Rob. I would have howled like a dog if they touched me even once with that whip. Anyone would have cried out." Robin blinked a few times and then winced as if his failures caused him actual physical pain. Either that or Sara was pressing that wool just a little too roughly against his stomach. She did have a bad temper. "But I was your 'leader'. I was supposed to be strong!" Will lifted one of his eyebrows. "The fact that you're alive proves some strength right there, eh?"  
  
"Ignore him," Sara ordered, wiping her hands on her old dress as she stood up. "He's being insecure and telling himself lies again." She turned to frown at Robin. "I'll get you something to drink," she murmured, forcing his hair out of his face again with her left hand, and motioning for Will to follow with her right. I cringed as they neared my perch, Sara's fingers reaching to fill a cup with water. If I made one slight rustling movement, I would be found out. I froze, even my breath halting within me.  
  
"So, what have you been able to get out of him?" Will asked. Sara sighed. "Insofar, I figured out that they flogged him four times a day, beat him eight, and that twice they burned him with the iron rods. That means he was tortured more often than any other prisoner in the dungeons. Other than that, nothing about Marian or what could have provoked her to this - besides her usual tendency to lose her temper, but that's common knowledge."  
  
"Obviously. I'm surprised that you got that much out of him." He grinned.  
  
Sara smiled sadly at him. "Will, I - I have something to tell you that you probably aren't going to like," she murmured, letting her eyes fall to Robin. She dipped the cup into their water bucket. Will caught her look, and his brow twitched. "What is it?" he asked, meeting her eyes with desperate concern. Her fingers tightened round the cup. "I - I think Robin has the - the beginnings of the fever," she replied, eyes downcast. I shuddered. None in Nottingham had survived the fever, though I had heard stories of those few in other shires who lived through it. Will hissed. "Sara - he cannot --"  
  
"Of course, I am only an amateur healer, not like my mother. But his forehead is --- oh, Will, it is warmer every day. And he still screams in the night - he screams that he is burning -- burning, burning, burning." Her voice trailed slowly off as she gazed over at him. Robin was coughing madly, hacking up mucus and a splatter of blood; also trying, in his proud way, to conceal it. It wasn't working, considering he was bent double over and everyone could see full well he was in pain. "But he --- he has not fallen into the sleep of the fever yet. I could be wrong!" She was desperate for evidence against her own reason. "And those dreams - it could be the brands he fears."  
  
"Sara, you have not been wrong yet."  
  
She shivered. "I understand, Will. But for once, I want so badly to be wrong." She sighed and went back over to Robin, who was shuddering and pale. "Here," she said softly, "drink this." Robin's trembling fingers locked themselves round the crude cup in a death grip, as if he should never let go. "Thank you," he replied calmly, though his face was deathly white. "Drink slowly now," Sara warned, hoping to appease the cough with the liquid, "or your stomach won't take it in."  
  
I slid down my tree, unable to take any more. I could not watch Robin die while I stood helpless. The priests always claim that the Lord has a plan meant for the greater good. Might I ask what the death of Robin Hood does that is so perfectly good? So undeniably benevolent?! I knotted my fingers into a tight fist of rage. I sensed tears springing in my eyes when I thought of the fever grabbing Robin's life by the neck and choking the strength from it. There had to be SOME way to keep him alive - sell my soul - anything! By God, there must be a way.  
  
*** *** *** *** ***  
  
A/N: Well, that's over with. I'm going to try to add four more chapters before summer is over. After that, updates will probably be pretty slow. That's why I had to finish the thing before school. Now I only have to work on editing during the school year. Anyways, your reviews are appreciated as always! 


	17. The Long Road

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A/N: It's me again! Thanks to Eh, Man for trying to give me some indents. Even if they don't show up, her thorough beta-ing is much appreciated. And about the Latin quote? No one says it. It's just like how those eighteenth-century authors used to put "finis" at the conclusion of the novel. That sort of idea.  
  
Also, does anyone know of any skills Marian's ever been given besides swordsmanship? That's really cliché of me, and I know it, but I just couldn't think of another. I was interested if there were any other classical talents she had.  
  
Anyways, that's about all I have to say for now! Hope you guys enjoy! Long chapter this time around.  
  
**** ***** **** The fever came a few days later, and it nearly got Robin. He was delirious for a fortnight, thrashing in his sleep and crying out for no reason. He screamed my name and begged for mercy in his nightmares, which were constant. He recognized no faces, registered not one voice. It was horrible! I stopped coming to watch them for a sennight because I could not stand to hear him wail.  
  
Sara called it, "the sleep of the fever". Her sister had died of the fever, so she knew the symptoms well. She said, quite calmly, that it was like a permanent nightmare, shifting every few hours. Usually, it only occurred when your body was heated for a period of more than three days. And you recognized barely anything but your pain. Delirium would overtake you, and anything in reference to bad memories could get you howling. The one thing they agreed not to mention was my name. In the morning, Robin would whimper of burning, and by noon, he would be shivering with chills. But no matter how he felt, his body was constantly bathed in a pool of sweat, and his forehead was wild with fire. Will was a nervous wreck, head in his hands more oft than not. I highly doubt he got any sleep.  
  
Sometimes Robin would cry for Will when he was half-delirious. His cousin would always come and sit cross-legged beside him, talking calmly of anything that had happened that day. Sometimes he'd try to stroke his hair or pull the broken fingers apart from each other, but Robin never wanted to be touched - at all. He would scream if anyone even tried to so much as brush his hair out of his eyes. Sara had to gag him when she put the poultices on his wounds, for the foresters were alert to the shrieking they heard every day, and drew near to camp. Robin only calmed when he was allowed to stare at Will from where he lay on the ground. For some reason, that comforted him, and he would fall asleep. Sara was puzzled by this behaviour. I could tell she thought something odd about this illness, because she would stare at Robin in a curious way when he begged for Will. Finally, she cornered Will and forced him to answer her questions. "Why does Robin always ask for you?" "You tell me, dove. You're the healer." "When someone falls into the sleep of the fever, they usually don't know what's going on, and they're very frightened. So they scream for someone they feel safe around, or someone who protects them." "There. See? You answered your own question." Sara raised an eyebrow. "My sister screamed for my mother and father. Why does Robin ask for you?"  
  
He blinked inquisitively at her. "I have no idea." Sensing that the interrogation would continue, he walked briskly away from her. "And I'm a Norman." She followed right behind him, arms crossed impatiently.  
  
He frowned. "Why do you have to know?" He was fiddling nervously with the bark of a nearby tree, trying to pry it away from its hold. She grabbed his hand gradually, and leisurely forced it into her own, gently bending the fingers so that they nearly fit inside her own fist.  
  
"Because I need to gather information for my healing," she replied, resting her head against his shoulder and smiling coyly. Now, Will must have shown desperate self-control with his reply, because he evidently wanted to kiss her and give in. I was definitely going to have to remember Sara's tactic. "Nay, he wouldn't want me to tell you."  
  
She kissed the side of his face. "I love you, Will." She smiled demurely again, arching both eyebrows. Will frowned. "You can't tell him I told you." "I wouldn't dream of it."  
  
"His father died when he was seven, and that beast was never very - how should I put this - 'nice' to Robin, so it wasn't 'run to father', it was 'run FROM father'. His mother married the lord of Locksley when he was nine." "And?"  
  
"His mother was Lady Elizabeth, formerly of Norwell. But she married a forester, Robin's father, so my family disowned her in a way. Not formally, of course. But once the forester was gone, she was welcomed back - if she came without the baggage." "Robin was the baggage." "Exactly. And, being the inhuman and unnatural creature she is, she left her nine-year-old son to fend for himself. And guess the only person in the whole shire that thought there was something wrong with that?" "You, my love. But why would someone wealthy as the Lord of Locksley want to marry a used woman?" "She'd already had eight boys, even if Robin was the only one who survived. He figured she'd bear him a son to inherit his estate. Besides, she'd have been his fourth wife. He just wanted a legitimate heir, not a pretty or rich spouse." "Pretty desperate, eh? Must've been the disgrace of the shire." Will smiled. "Obviously." Sara returned his smile. "Well, that explains why Robin only wants you around." She kissed him on the lips this time, though she had to get on her tiptoes to reach him. She made a move to walk away, but paused a moment. "Will? Did - Did his mother have any children with the Lord of Locksley?"  
  
Will grinned maniacally and shook his head. "Nay, and now the old bastard's going to pay for it. Even on his deathbed he was sure he'd gotten her pregnant. Right before he died he wrote that any children of the woman should inherit his estate - those exact words." He laughed shortly. "But he didn't specify that they had to come from him."  
  
Sara's mouth dropped open. "Are you serious? Robin could inherit Locksley? Our Robin - the lord of Locksley?" "Once his mother dies, and she's ill at the moment." "Does he have any idea?" "Of course not. Only the nobility know of it, and they don't exactly want a peasant inheriting that much land." "Why don't you tell him?" "Because he'd try to find a way not to inherit, knowing him."  
  
She smiled again. "I can always get my information from you." Sara WAS an extremely good healer, especially for someone as obstinate as Robin. She could be positively brutal - tearing the dead skin off of Robin's burns until he screamed for her to stop - and the next moment extraordinarily gentle - stroking Robin's hair for five hours straight until he finally nodded off. Of course, the latter act of compassion could have been due to that fact that Robin was delirious and begging her not to beat him. She put all her herbal remedies to use, but eventually, it took both her and Friar Tuck to establish a decent cure. That really upset her, because that meant the dogs would be around. Even Robin and John, who had the most patience, couldn't stand those giant hounds. Only Will loved them. They were his darlings; he and Tuck both thought the nasty beasts to be delightful. I thought they were abominable. So Sara and Tuck worked for three days straight amongst the beasts, trying to figure out which herbs did what. They finally ended up with some strange combination of lungwort, marjorjam, and lemon balm, along with a lot of strange somewhat olive things only Sara knew the names of. And even then they weren't sure it would work. For three days, they argued over whether it had too much of this or too much of that, until Will finally told them fiddling wasn't going to cure Robin any sooner that simple trial and error. It worked.  
  
I was in ecstasy for days afterwards, knowing that Robin's fever was going down. Of course, no one could be sure if it was Robin's stubborn immune system or the foul-smelling cure, but he was still healing. No one at Whitby could understand my sudden shift from the routine moodiness I was famous for to the angelic patience and humility that was usually of Aedre. It was discovered one morning when Sara was getting ready to sit on Robin's shoulders so that she could cool his forehead off with some cold cloths. She went to grab him and spread the alarm (Robin's screams had made a marvellous cock crow for the lazy outlaws), but he didn't even move when she touched him. Instead, he smiled faintly at her and murmured a greeting. Of course, Sara managed to ruin it by screaming for everyone to come see, and all of the outlaws immediately ran over to watch him. They all laughed and clapped at the brilliance of Sara and Tuck, oblivious to the growing alarm on Robin's face. It wasn't until he tried to stand up and run away that they noticed he was nearly swooning. David got the worst wake-up call, as Robin managed to collapse and lurch right into him. That cut the celebrations short, especially when Will threatened to break the nose bridge of anyone who disturbed his cousin again. But my spirits weren't dampened at all! My Robin was healed! Of course, there was still the matter of the bruises and welts, but as long as the cursed fever wasn't there, everything seemed idealistically perfect. Of course, the true sign that he was better was that he began to ask who was doing this and if so-and-so had worked on their archery. If the worry was back, Robin was back.   
Obviously, the first thing to do once he was better was to wash his hair and face, both of which were less than attractive. And that made me horribly lonely inside, because they were all laughing and pretending not to recognize him after he was clean, calling him "Will" and "John", or even "Nan". (That last one was Sara's idea) And sitting curled in my tree, I was suddenly so distant from them, friendless and unwelcome. For the first time since my spying had begun, I truly felt like an intrusion upon their pleasure.  
  
It wasn't until he began to walk that I remembered my precarious position. After about a month or so of healing, Robin still had a little trouble staying upright for long periods of time. He usually had to lean against trees or cling to someone's shoulder in order to stay standing. I have to admit, it was rather pitiful. But progress was golden. Every step made my heart jump with happiness.  
  
And then it happened.  
  
Robin had been walking on his own for a while, hobbling around on his staff. Will still watched him as if he were going to fall any moment. Sara insisted that he rest more and walk less. The scars on his back would never fade, but she promised they would heal with time - if he rested. It hurt to look at them, since Robin walked around without a shirt on for a sennight after the fever, as Nan was still scrounging for fabric for a new one to replace his torn old one. I had been the one in charge of buying the fabric before, which was usually a bad lot of green, but now they had no idea where to get their wool.  
  
By the time the event came, he had been wearing his patched tunic for two days. Nan was quite proud of her accomplishment, though it was too long, and the sleeves were too short. Robin claimed that she'd done a splendid job of it, calling it a wonderful piece of clothing.  
  
I had just climbed down from my tree, prepared to go home, when I heard heavy footsteps. And like the brilliant person I am, I froze, leaving just enough time for Will's head came through the greenery. He took one look at me and flung the point of his sword at my throat. "Give me one good reason not to kill you right now," he hissed, "and keep it quiet." "Will - what did I do to you?" It was pathetic, I know. "What did you do?" His voice rose in hatred and disbelief. "Sure, I hurt Robin, but I didn't exactly harm you." I cringed. Aye, extremely pathetic. "He doesn't trust me anymore, you wicked girl! That you stole from me! I had a right to his trust. I'd never betrayed him the way you did." He was advancing, so I retreated. It wasn't working. There were too many trees in Sherwood. Cursed greenery. "But when he looks at me ---- He never tells me anything! Do you know what you've done? I should kill you now! He doesn't trust any of us! He CAN'T trust anyone! That is reason enough to murder you!"  
  
I hated hearing Will's laughing voice twisted into a venomous hiss. We remained there for what seemed liked days, but was probably only minutes; Will was torn between murdering me and saving his soul, and I was struggling between the need to kill him for my own sake and the need to spare him for Robin's.  
  
There was another barely audible clumping from some ways off. Will cursed under his breath. And there was Robin. "Will?" he called, "Sara wonders if ---"  
  
His mouth lay open; hanging useless from his slackened jaw, tongue still against his teeth. His body, rigid with pride before, had drooped helplessly; bearing all weight against the staff he dragged himself along with. "Will, how - how did she come here?" he whispered, eyes flung open widely.  
  
The sword held to my throat twitched. "I don't know," Will replied cautiously, keeping a watchful eye on me, the other watching his cousin anxiously.  
  
Robin stared around him for another eternity, and then froze. "The loophole," he murmured, staring straight at me, "You told me about the loophole."  
  
Will smiled wickedly. "Well, she won't be telling anyone else about it, now, will she?" he sneered. And he pulled the sword back, preparing to strike.  
  
"Will, don't!" Robin screamed, and he almost fell of the staff. Wincing in pain, he stood straight again.  
  
But Will showed no pity. His eyes were brimming with too much anger. "Robin, you cannot still feel anything for her! Not after what she --" "Will! Listen to me! I killed a forester! And you see how desperately the sheriff wants my head because of it! If you were to kill a noble --- Will, not even I could hide you in Sherwood." He was struggling to stay upright, but the staff wobbled dangerously. Will swore. "But she knows! She knows where our camp is, you idiot! We'll have to move if she lives, and we can't -" "Then we'll move." "Nay! Robin, it is easier to kill the disloyal thing now!"  
  
I trembled. Please spare me. I feared the ruthless look in Will's eyes. He had grown up sure that it was his duty to protect Robin - from his parents, the bullies, the other foresters, the sheriff, and now - ME. And I really don't think he would have any qualms about killing me if I posed a threat to his self-appointed charge.  
  
Will glowered at Robin. "Besides, no one could pin it to me," he snapped.  
  
Robin held out a broken hand in supplication. "That is all very well, Will. But if they can find no murderer, they will name me her killer."  
  
Will froze, sword moving ever so slightly from my neck. That was true, and he wouldn't hurt Robin, even if it meant he could kill me. "The - the price on your head would be ---" "Will, even those we help would be after me."  
  
Will swore. "But, Robin ---" He was almost whining.  
  
Robin shrugged. "Will, we have always been at her mercy," he murmured, watching me with fear from the corner of his eye.  
  
Will's brow was still furrowed. Then he smirked. "Sara's awfully good at throwing those knives," he sneered, eyes lethal in their scrutiny of me, "It would be quite a pity if one of those daggers were to land in the back of your darling father." Robin started, but I noticed that he did not protest this implication.  
  
If it had been the sheriff threatening me, I would have insulted his manners. But it was Will, who, firstly, didn't give a dunghill about his manners, and secondly, would cut my tongue out if I spoke. I only nodded obediently. He drew the sword slowly across my neck, only barely breaking the skin. "Mind that you don't forget," he murmured, smirking, and then backed up.  
  
I tried to beg Robin with my eyes, watching him in that innocent expression I had perfected over years of playacting in order to escape a lady's usual strictures. He managed to meet my eyes for a few moments, but soon, his eyes wandered back to his feet. Will, catching my tactic, bellowed and charged at me with the sword. I screamed as loudly as I could and ran from that spot, praying a forester would show up and stop me. Will's mocking laughter rang after me. By the rood, how I ran. I was sure my legs would fall off when I came back to Whitby. The wind swept around me, trying to compensate for human affection. I stared at my surroundings - the manor home that housed my father, the serfs who toiled until death, the servants who performed more important tasks, and the cold wet grass that fingered my ankles with gentle scratching sounds. The sky was predicting rain again, to the surprise of none. But only I could feel the storm that was already brewing. I waved timidly to one of the serfs, whose hands were bleeding from pushing the plow all morning. I paused. How tired I was. I wanted only to sleep. But my conscience overcame me, and I traveled down to the fields the serfs plowed. My friend blanched and held up his hands in innocence. I rolled my eyes happily at him and stepped over to the overseer. Our serfs were not too fond of him. Neither was I. "Sir, tell them they may go in for the night," I ordered. The overseer raised one eyebrow. "Are you sure, milady? I have not received orders from milord." "You did not receive orders to put them to work, either," I snapped. Of course, he knew without being told that they were to work each day, but it still made a nice comeback. And the exhausted serfs smiled gratefully. How little they expected. Didn't they know that I could free them, but I chose not to?  
  
"Aye, milady, yet ---" I glowered at him, and pushed him behind me. In a loud voice, I proclaimed, "You may all leave your work for today!" feeling my lips twitch when they grinned, "No matter WHAT this fool over here says." I jerked my thumb in the direction of the overseer. They laughed and trailed over to their shacks.  
  
My father was sitting by the fire when I came in. I smiled at him. "Marian," he said, smiling as if my presence made the world go round.  
  
I walked over to him and kissed his cheek. "Hello, Father. How are you?" I asked, seating myself in the chair beside him.  
  
"Fine, love, fine," he replied. His gnarled fingers were locked tightly around the arms of his chair. I smiled.  
  
"That's wonderful. Any news from the town?" He nodded slowly, staring at his feet. For a man of over forty, my father was quite strong. "My sister is marrying, darling. And she wishes for us to attend. Would you like that?" "I suppose, Father. Is this your sister, Lucy, by chance?" Lucy was actually my father's half-sister. After all, the girl was a few years younger than me, and gorgeous. They could not have come from the same two people. "Aye. She's very pretty, so it comes as no surprise that she has found a man to adore her." "Might I bring Aedre with me?" "Of course. It is a rare day you two are not seen together."  
  
I smiled and nodded. "When will the event take place?" I asked sweetly. He smiled in return. "A fortnight's time and it will be here. Your own, I fear, is much father into time," he told me, trying to console a heart hat needed no consolation on that matter. I was hardly looking forward to a lifelong shackle of the Church that would bind me to the fat pig known as Richard for all of eternity. But my father didn't know that. He was too sweet to believe that anyone could truly loathe someone they were engaged to. There was no question of his love for my mother. But her affection was questionable. I must have taken after her, because everyone else in my family seems so disgustingly kind. My older brother, Andrew, had been just like Father, always smiling and understanding. I mean, everyone appreciates kindness, but there is a level at which it's inhuman! And there was compassionate Aedre, and my deceased cousin Mildred. Mildred had been the homeliest girl I had ever laid eyes on, but was so benevolent she ended up in an extremely wealthy marriage and completely in love. Too bad the fever carried her off.  
  
The door flew open, and Aedre came storming into the room. She had been outside very often these days, talking to none other than Edward. The both of them got along wonderfully, and I had high hopes of their marriage. But it was highly unlikely. Firstly, Edward was an oldest son, and destined to marry the best his parents could find - moneywise. Secondly, Aedre had barely any dowry, because she was the first daughter in a family of five. Her family had sent her to Whitby after hearing about "her unruly cousin, whom, rumour has it, neglects each and every one of her duties as mistress of the household". Oh, please Aunt Matilda. We'd take Aedre in without the charming insults.  
  
Aedre STORMED. Peaceful, saintly, patient, humble Aedre stalked into the room like --- well, like me. She flung her cloak onto the ground and stomped towards my chambers, muttering darkly to herself. I followed her with my eyes, awaiting the usual smile and wave, but she hardly noticed that anyone else was in the room. Highly unusual for selfless Aedre. Bobbing my head at my father, I rose from my chair. "I must see what bothers Aedre," I murmured.  
  
I followed her when she stalked into my room. "Aedre!" I called, "Wait!" She whirled around, eyes narrowed ferociously and fists clenched by her side. But when she saw it was me, she grimaced in what I thought was an attempt at smiling. "Hello, Marian," she said, voice breathy with exhaustion. I raised both eyebrows. "Something bothering you, Aedre?" I asked. She sighed and ran fingers through her hair irritably. "Edward," she muttered. "What exactly did he do?" I continued. She sighed and sat down in a chair. "I - well, we were talking about the sheriff, and I happened to mention that I was at the hanging."  
  
I seated myself beside her. "Aye?"  
  
"Well, Edward told me that he'd been there as well. And I mentioned how sorry I felt for Robin. I mean, just looking at him made me want to cry. No one deserves to be treated like that." I smiled. Aedre was always so utterly compassionate. She barely even knew Robin and she felt like crying because he had suffered. Like I said, saint material.  
  
"And?" I pried, still widening my eyes compassionately.  
  
Aedre sniffed. "Well, Edward shrugged and said that 'the soulless villain' deserved it! That's what he said! And he completely meant it! I even told him that Robin hadn't meant to kill that forester. I told him the whole story! And he said that Robin was a fool liar spilling out tales to confuse simple-minded maids like myself!" She howled in frustration. "That demon imp in the shape of a man!" "But I thought you liked him." "I did - I do, but, oh, Marian, you can't say things like that! That wasn't true!" "But he might have been told that it was." I was trying to make her rational. "Anything that can howl in pain does not deserve to be beaten so that it does. Even the most simple can understand that." "Well, Aedre ---" I personally believed that punishment was occasionally necessary. She shook her head vehemently.  
  
"Nay! Mari, nay! Robin deserves none of that! His face - oh, Marian, no one deserves that! Not someone as kind and innocent as Robin." "Well, Aedre, in Edward's eyes he was a criminal - a thief. Edward knew only what the sheriff's propaganda told him."  
  
Aedre crossed her arms defiantly and blew hair out of her face. "Well, I told him the truth," she snapped bitterly, glaring at the stone wall in irritation. "That should have been enough to convince him, if he truly loved me like he said he did." A faint smile flickered across her features as she thought of that proclamation.  
  
"He said he loved you?" I cried, too exultant to care that my tone of voice would probably give my father a heart attack. If Edward loves her, then maybe, just maybe, they could wed and ---  
  
"Aye, but I am quite sure that he lied," she grumbled, "else he'd be here now, begging my forgiveness." I smirked.  
  
"Well, Aedre ---" I thought of all the times I'd told Robin he was a petulant child and stormed off, and then been too stubborn to ask forgiveness, because he'd called me an obnoxious spoiled wench. "Sometimes our pride gets in the way," I told her. She sniffed.  
  
"Did you happen to insult him on the matter?" I asked. She looked at me, and her lips twitched.  
  
"I -I called him a sadistic monster who dips his face into every soiled puddle that even the animals shy away from."  
  
I burst into laughter. Just THINKING of perfect, ladylike Aedre howling that at someone was just unthinkable. She began to giggle, managing to uphold a delicate air that my raucous laughter could not match.  
  
"Anything else?" I pried, still clutching my sides in laughter.  
  
Aedre smirked. "I told him that I desired we be better strangers, and that his kisses were Satan's own children."  
  
I laughed loudly again. Oh, by God's Hands. She blushed. "And then I said that he was not worth another word from my lips, or else I'd call him a knave. Then I stormed away." "And? Did he offer any reply to this?" "He claimed I was too mean to have my name repeated, and that I was a dirty little harlot with more hair than wit!"  
  
I burst into laughter. And I thought Robin and I were awful to each other. Aedre frowned irritably at me for a few moments, and then her lip began to twitch. I only encouraged this by clutching my sides as I giggled. She snorted, smiled, and then began to giggle infectiously.  
  
"Mari!" she whined, laughing as she said it. Her head landed on my shoulder and she propped her feet onto a loom. "I suppose I should forgive him, eh?" she asked, grinning delightedly up at me. I nodded, brushing her hair out of her face. "We women must forgive the men their faults, no matter how numerous they are," I replied, "Besides, whom else are we going to make fun of when they're gone?"  
  
Aedre giggled. "After all, he DID say he loved me, you know." She beamed in satisfaction.  
  
"Aedre!" someone outside was screaming my cousin's name. She sat up, swinging both legs onto the floor. I peered at her and shrugged. She smiled slightly and sprang upward. The day had been rather warm, so I had left the window open. Also, the shutter was wrecked anyways, and barely kept the wind out despite itself. Richard had broken it when he was drunk. I love when he comes to visit with ale on his breath; he comes so close to killing himself. Pity he didn't fall out.  
  
So, with the shutters open, Aedre could easily lean outside. "What are you doing here, Edward?" she sneered. He sighed. "I - I thought over what you said," he murmured. We were on the second floor, but it was still quite easy to speak normally.  
  
"What?" Aedre snapped, "About your being a sadistic monster?"  
  
Edward frowned at his feet. "Well, nay, milady. I instead thought of, pardon the expression, the excuses you made for the outlaw." "He has a name! Only Richard calls him that!"  
  
At the idea of being in any way similar to Richard, Edward blanched. "I apologize, milady," he murmured. Well, it appeared as if timid Aedre had some hold on him. "Aye, you apologize," she called, "but are you repentant?" Was that sarcasm? From Aedre?  
  
Edward sighed. "I warn you, lady, I am not very good at this," he began, watching his feet make nervous scuff marks in the dirt, "but aye, I do regret my words to you - heartily." Aedre smiled benevolently. "And I mine," she replied. I personally would have made him grovel. But Aedre was a heck of a lot nicer than I. Edward's head jerked up, and he grinned. Aedre turned to me. "Excuse me, Mari, but I need to reward Edward for his contrition." She winked, giggling, and rushed out the door.  
  
A minute later, I watched through the window as she leapt into his arms and smothered him in kisses and apologies. Envy crept up my spine and darted into my heart like an ill-intentioned spider, trying to bite me with its jealous venom. And I believe it succeeded in destroying me, for I wished with all my heart that I could be forgiven. *** *** *** *** *** *** ***  
  
A/N: Poor Marian, eh? Actually, she's rich. (can't resist a bad pun, y'know) Anyways, thanks so much for your reviews! You have no idea how stupidly happy I get over them. Lol. 


	18. Allan a Dale

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A/N: Hello again to all the best reviewers in all of fandom! I was going to update on Friday like I usually do, but I have a sleepover tomorrow night, so I won't be here. That could always be a hindrance to the updating process. But anyways, everyone caught up this week, cuz they're the best!!! New character is here!  
  
**** **** *** **** ****  
  
A month later---  
  
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Robin spat blood onto the ground. The slice inside his mouth was become exceptionally irritating, especially when he was eating. Will's constant gaze was also infuriating. It made his skin crawl to think that someone had to waste their time pitying him. He forced himself to swallow another mouthful of Sara's stew, but he couldn't keep himself from wincing when it touched his wound. Will caught the grimace from the corner of his eye, and he turned to give Robin's pain his full attention.  
  
"I'm fine, WILLIAM," Robin snapped, determined not to flinch the next time he took a bite. His throat tingled, and he knew he'd be hacking up his insides in a few minutes. THAT promised to bring another galling glance of sympathy. He glowered moodily at his bowl, one he'd carved himself - rather badly, actually. Will sighed. "So you say," he replied, shrugging deliberately, with condescending eyebrows raised. Robin turned his glare against his cousin and then returned to eating. The next bite was just as painful as the first, but he set his face like an irate rock. Don't think about it.  
  
David came into camp, leading another stranger. Robin sighed to himself. David had a nasty habit of pitying fools and romantics. And the boy next to him looked like a true fop.  
  
"Erm, Robin?" David called. Forcing himself not to frown ferociously, Robin turned around and stood. "Aye, David?" he replied, rubbing his wrist against his leg. David gestured towards his guest. He was the very image of Will's alter ego - blonde curls and extravagant clothes complimented by blue eyes and finely chiseled cheek bones. His handsome face had become desperately pale after catching sight of Robin, who still bore traces of his time in the dungeon, the most noticeable of which was a long burn mark running down the left side of his face. The boy could not have been over fifteen, clinging to a lute as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.  
  
"A - Are YOU Robin Hood?" their guest asked, lifting his head to stare at Robin. Will snorted. New outlaws were always a bit surprised with their first glimpse of Robin. "Aye," Robin replied, smiling slightly at the shock evident in their pale visitor's face, "And you would be?"  
  
"Allan-a-Dale, master."  
  
Will burst into outright laughter then, and soon the others joined him. Even Robin snorted. "I - you need not call me master, Allan," he began, grinning in light of the recent title. Allan reddened when he realized he was being laughed at. "Oh," was all he murmured, casting his eyes on his feet. Robin's face flickered with pity for a moment. He knew how it felt to be laughed at. "Hush, Will," he snapped, and his cousin ceased snickering. The other outlaws followed suite.  
  
"Why did you come here?" Robin asked, watching Allan for an answer.  
  
The boy looked up. "I - I came to ask a favor, ma-" Allan stopped himself, ears glowing scarlet. Robin smiled warmly.  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
"My - my love, she is being forced to marry someone against her will." Robin's face twisted with disgust, but he kept a civil tongue, and let Allan continue.  
  
"She has promised to love me for all her life, and never that churl who's hand has been forced into her own!" he cried exuberantly, fully aware of Robin's indifference. Will snorted. Sara snickered. Nan rolled her eyes. David simpered. Robin was going to be mighty angry about this one.  
  
Robin sighed. "And I suppose you wish for us to charge headlong into a house of God and strike down the rogue who has the AUDACITY to propose to your lady love," he replied, voice dripping with pitiless sarcasm. Allan glowered at him, showing fortitude for someone so frightened of the outlaw leader. "Aye! If you are not too craven a man to do so!"  
  
John stood up, glaring at the small Allan. Robin held out a hand to keep him back. "Nay, John, hold your temper. I'll hold mine." He turned back to Allan. "I suppose that you have pledged to love her as well?"  
  
"Of course! She is pale as the dawn and -"  
  
"I am quite sure that your darling is perfect goddess. But how do you plan to support her once we rip her from the brutal clutches of her marital captor?" Again, Robin's voice was thick with the sound of derision.  
  
"I -I - we should live here for the time being."  
  
"And your affectionate lady, who is delicate as a flower, would give up the warm home and secure life offered by her current betrothed to rot in a forest with you?"  
  
"Aye! She loves me! She has said so herself!"  
  
"You? A peasant? Are you not some pitiful trifle she has decided to toy with for the moment? Come winter in Sherwood will her proclamations of everlasting adoration still appear as strong?"  
  
"Aye! My lady is honorable and fair! She should never tell deceitful falsehoods - not those that affect the heart!"  
  
"How can you be so sure? How long have you known her - a fortnight?"  
  
"Nay! She has been mine since childhood!"  
  
Indignation abandoned Robin's face, to be replaced swiftly by pity. He stared at Allan's trusting eyes, so sure that they could hold a member of the nobility in their clutches by stupid declarations of worship. Simpleton. "Then she shall grow tired of you," he replied quietly. For she would. They all did.  
  
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David smiled at Allan, who was remaining with them in Sherwood for the night. "Eh, don't mind Robin. He's just a bit cynical. I'm sure he'll turn round," he comforted, handing his guest a bowl. Allan, completely disregarding David's attempts at comfort, brooded in the corner, though he took the bowl of stew. "Never did such a black-hearted fiend exist who was so idolized!" David smirked. "As you'll have it, minstrel," he replied, amused by the romantic language, "But he really isn't half so bad as he seems. Just depressed."  
  
Allan's ears, always prepared for a tale, perked at the mention. "Depressed?" he asked, blinking in amazement. "Aye," David continued, wiping stew form his chin, "It was HIS lady love sent him to the dungeon."  
  
"A LADY sent him there?"  
  
"Lady Marian, the pretty copper-headed girl from Whitby. You know her?" His mouth was full as he spoke, and Allan's eyebrow twitched in revulsion.  
  
"Aye. I played in her hall once, and she seemed so --- so kind."  
  
"Deceptive, isn't she? Robin was barmy over her; everybody knew it."  
  
Allan faded back into his corner. Well, maybe that Marian dame was such a wretch, but his Lucy wasn't at all like that. She was kind and forgiving and benevolent. She would never harm anyone; not in her life had she ever touched a servant - or even barked at them. He sighed, and curled into a ball, wrapping both arms round his knees as he stared at the trees. Now all he had to do was prove that to Robin.  
  
David glanced over at him, and noticed his full bowl. "You going to finish that?"  
  
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A/N: Well, now that we have introduced Allan---you all know what's coming. But anyways, next chapter we figure out what Marian's father is up to--- hehe. Hope you enjoyed! 


	19. Innocent Tufts of White Hair!

A/N: 'Tis OutlawEris again! I decided to give all my wonderful reviewers another update, since the last one was so short! (But do not expect this very often. I am very slowly beginning to develop a life) And, for reviewing even without the reminder e-mail, they get reviewer replies as well! You people are the nicest in the universe!! But I have a question - would you prefer if I put replies after the actual story or before?  
  
And I just got the best computer game! It's called Robin of Sherwood. *laughs* My cousin and I play it all the time, and we're soooo awful. They're like, "It's an easy mission. You have twenty Merry Men and there are three rookie guards leading a treasure!" And we all die anyways - every single guy in the band. I got a lot of good laughs from that thing, let me tell you. We've shot one of our own guys once, and everyone in the band attacked our character (RH) for it. *laughs again* "Damn it! You've been mauled by your own men!" (That was what popped up when we croaked. haha) Thought I would share that interesting tidbit w/you all.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
~£~ Reviewer Replies! ~£~  
  
SHERWOOD GIRL: Don't worry; Marian will turn out fine in the end. I don't believe in miserable endings! Glad you like this, though. And love the name! ;-)  
  
INDIGO DREAM: I have already reprimanded you for criticizing your awesome reviews, so I will not go into depth on that subject. And you laughed with my characters? *claps* Will is kind of mean to Allan, so I was hoping someone would like his brand of humor! You made my day again. And what instrument do you play? Since you are a slight cripple, does it hinder your progress?  
  
DRAGON-OF-THE-NORTH: *sigh* Yes, I should have sent an e-mail, but I forgot, being me. Sorry about that. And I'm so glad you think I did Allan well! I'm not good at the classical language and all of that (hence my omission of the "thee" and "thy"), so I'm glad I made him seem so different from my outlaws! And you really do like Sara and Will's interaction? I was worried people wouldn't really like their romance, because it was none of that romantic stuff. They're just --- themselves. And they tease and yell at one another; *wipes sweat from forehead* As long as you like them, I'm happy!!! And please don't fell pressured to review for "Blood..". I understand everyone has lives outside of ff.net!  
  
LULU BELL: You are such an awesome reviewer! You make my day all the time! I think you're the only reviewer to say "poor Allan". I'm glad he has a few sympathizers, the poor little sot. Hehe. And there aren't enough RH stories out there! It irritates me that there's so much bloody King Arthur (not to insult Camelot's king) but so little RH! What is up? Hehe. You said this could be published? *claps* See? You DO make my day! First signed copy goes to lulu bell! Lol.  
  
RUBY: So true; last chapter was too short. But I really could not write more w/out revealing about Wilfred's plan, and that is the dedication of this chapter. And Robin comes around, worry not! I don't twist legends THAT much.  
  
AMADEA: I'm so glad you like this! I've seen you reviewed for all the RH fanfics I like, so when you said you liked mine, it made me so happy! And thank you for the tip on the Latin quote!!!  
  
ANYA ANANDA: Random love of David; it is very good. He makes me smile just writing about him. But I have to confess that Allan won't really develop much more; it's his bride I wanted to really develop. Alan is comic relief in a way, but I will try to give him some depth. And you liked my idea about the inheritance? I thought someone would call me for historical inaccuracy, but you actually thought it was clever? Wow, I must have sounded like I knew what I was talking about, even though I didn't. You're in Latin 4? I'm only in Latin 1!!! (I learned how to say all the prayers in Latin, so that comes in handy w/medieval people, cuz they said prayers in Latin) So are you certified fluent in Latin? And you said this could be published? Gargh, I could hug you. Thank you soooo much!!!  
  
RHAPSODY'S SONG: Robin only caught snatches of the conversations between Marian and the sheriff, so he's kind of confused about her intentions and/or feelings.  
  
STARGAZER1: Glad you like it!!!  
  
VALLEYGIRL: hehe. Love the pen name. And why does everyone think I will give my characters an unhappy ending? It will be a happy ending; worry not!  
  
LLYRA MONROE: I really do love your ficcie (and that you read stories in computer app. Lol. My evil teacher, Mrs. Pratt, always catches me when I do that) I hope you like this, and update your story soon!  
  
SeIzInG the MoMeNt: love the lettering in the pen name. Wish I could do that, but it would take me about an hour to get it right. Hence, I had to copy and paste your name in order to write it here! Lol. I'm glad I have earned your approval, and that my characters seem real and developed. Thank you for your honest review!  
  
Merryofheart - you're welcome, and I love how you keep changing your pen name. It gives me a fun way to guess what it will change to next!  
  
£*£*£*£*£* The Chapter Itself £*£*£*£*£*£*£*£*£*£  
  
I sighed, staring intently at the chessboard. There had to be some way. We hadn't even been playing for five minutes, and my father had me in check. He was really smart for someone his age - actually, for someone of any age. I shifted a pawn towards his side. My king went down. "Checkmate."  
  
"You always win at this game," I whined, smiling. My father chuckled. "It's all in the strategy, Marian. You never use any form of tactic. All you do is try to capture the most pieces. If that were the determining factor of the game, you would win every time." I peered contemptuously down at the pile of white pieces stacked beside my side of the board. My father had bested me with three figures still in the game. I had only lost four figures to him. And he still managed to come out the victor.  
  
"Did you win again, milord?" Aedre asked, humming quietly to herself. My father nodded. "As always," I mumbled irritably.  
  
"Well, mayhap you got your brains AND your temper from your mother," Aedre commented. My father smiled and kissed my forehead. "You're mighty intelligent for a lady, Marian." He stood up. "Besides, I've had years of experience with this abominable game. I know every strategy one could employ."  
  
"Oh, just admit it, you old sage! You're more clever than me by a hundredfold, and you know it."  
  
He laughed again. "That temper certainly came from your mother." I snorted with slight amusement. "Aye, but the swordsmanship comes from you, Father." He smiled again. "Enemies flee in terror---"  
  
"When the hand of a Whitby graces the hilt," Aedre and I droned in monotone, "I know the old motto, Father."  
  
He nodded. "Well, love, I am off to Nottingham Castle for a few hours. The sheriff and I have something to discuss. Will you be sure that the serfs are brought back some time before sundown? It is the Sabbath, and they have souls as the rest of us." I nodded. I usually did that anyways, and the overseer and I had quite the nasty relationship as a result, a connection the serfs heartily enjoyed. After all, I was my father's daughter. Wit runs rampant in Whitby veins. Or at least I like to think so.  
  
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The Lord of Whitby handed his horse over to a stable boy. "Take good care of him now, boy. He's very precious to me." The stable boy nodded wordlessly, stroking the horse's neck. "Aye, milord." The lord of Whitby smiled. Nottingham's stable boys were very well-mannered. And no wonder with their master.  
  
A tiny page with a sweet face led him towards the sheriff's private office. The room was well-furnished for the living quarters of a small shire's official. What a coincidence that the taxes had been especially heavy as of late. The sheriff was standing behind his desk, smiling in what he must have thought was an inviting manner, but instead repulsed the Lord of Whitby. "Good day, my lord Wilfred." The man's thin lips coiled into a sneer as he greeted his guest. "Good day to you as well, my lord Sheriff. I have something very urgent that I must discuss with you." Wilfred lowered his voice and shuffled, inwardly laughing at his feeble elderly disguise.  
  
"Oh, aye? What might that be?"  
  
He pretended to have great difficulty seating himself. "It seems as though you told my daughter, Marian, that Whitby was in some financial trouble. Overdue taxes, was it?" He blinked a few times as if having trouble with his sight.  
  
"Oh, my lord, I am sure she was mistaken."  
  
"I was not certain of the validity of her statement, either. This is why I came here to see you, milord."  
  
'Well, you know how women are." A bark of laughter escaped the sheriff's lips. He smirked as if he and the Lord Wilfred were indulging in a delicious personal joke of male supremacy. However, Wilfred was not amused. He did not tolerate insults to his brilliant daughter's intelligence. "Marian is most certainly not a foolish coquette, as you seem to suppose she is."  
  
The sheriff's friendly smiled tensed and his finely chiseled eyebrow twitched crossly. "I did not mean to suggest that anything about Marian is foolish. It is only that he is female, and cannot prevent-"  
  
"Marian never lost a game of chess to her brother. And he was four years her elder."  
  
That shut the sheriff's mouth. After a long pause of shocked contemplation, he smiled. "She must have misheard, sir. I promise you that all of Whitby's expenses have been covered amply by yourself."  
  
With a curt bow, the Lord of Whitby ended the conversation by exiting through the door. He strode but five paces down the hall before bumping into the infamous outlaw hunter, Guy of Gisbourne. The soldier's strong facial lines leered at him with that inhuman gaze. The bloodlust that consumed Guy of Gisbourne every moment of his lifetime and sent him racing after those whose death would warrant no punishment.  
  
Wilfred started in shock. What was that bloodthirsty monster doing in Nottingham Castle? Sir Gisbourne bowed hastily to Lord Wilfred and then stalked briskly past him and into the sheriff's office. He did not even bother to knock before entering.  
  
The skittish page was waiting outside the door for Lord Wilfred, knees knocking together. Wilfred turned to the small lad; sure he would catch him off-guard. "Boy, are you fond of your master?" he asked, bending over slightly. Without thinking the page sneered, "And Hell is frozen!" And then, a moment later, catching himself, hysterically corrected his statement, clasping both hands together in supplication. "Please, milord, do not tell him I said that! He would be so angry! He'd --oh, please! I -I really love my lord sheriff, truly I do!" The poor thing was near tears of fright. Wilfred smirked.  
  
"Well, I positively loathe the sheriff," he replied, nearly knocking the boy over with astonishment, "and was wondering if you would like to help me take him out of power." The boy's formerly sweet, angelic face lit up with a demonic leer of hellfire. "Aye!" he cried, exultant in wicked pleasure as he rubbed both hands together, "the old devil." Suddenly resuming his former innocent appearance, he grinned at Wilfred. "I am at your service, milord."  
  
"I am going to lean against this door, all right?" Wilfred instructed in a low voice, "What he says may help me remove him from the seat of power." The boy smirked evilly, rubbing his hands together and nodding fervently.  
  
Still smiling at the boy's change of character, Lord Wilfred turned around. He had always been rather fond of children, though he had never supposed one could be quite so venomous. But there was no time for that. What was the Sheriff up to?  
  
He crept with the silent tread of elderly caution until his ear was against the recently closed door. One must collect all possible information. The treads of an exiting kitchen lad interfered with the first few exchanges, but soon all words were clear.  
  
"So, you cannot handle this Robin Hood rogue, I take it." That was Gisbourne.  
  
"Of course not, you twit! Why else would I call you?" And the sheriff.  
  
"That is beyond the point. I want to know what makes you think I can catch him."  
  
"Firstly, you are the best outlaw hunter in Europe. Secondly, he's a bit - injured." The Sheriff laughed shortly.  
  
"How so?" Gisbourne sounded sickly interested.  
  
"We had him tortured in the dungeons for three days. Weak little mongrel was screaming like the bloody dickens."  
  
"So you know how to catch him? Why not employ the same methods?"  
  
"We DID know how to capture the scapegrace! But now the process is useless. We used that Lady Marian from Whitby to catch him."  
  
"That fiery wench agreed to help you?" He laughed hoarsely. "THAT seems improbable. She hates you."  
  
"It is not as if it was voluntary, you imbecile. I told her we had her father in the dungeons!"  
  
Both men laughed loudly, rude and cruel voices rising in sick merriment. Lord Wilfred stepped back, face pale. Poor Marian. His innocent little daughter must have been so vexed. She was not one for bloodshed and trickery. He had tried to protect her from the evil of Nottingham's sheriff, but it had seemed inevitable that she should discover his wiles. Now she had, and in the worst possible way. He had not been there to save her. Wilfred grit his teeth in anger. No one would so cruelly use his only daughter in such a way. Not while he was the Lord of Whitby.  
  
"Page," he murmured, stepping back. The boy nodded. "Please take me to my horse." He began his trip down the hall anxiously, the undersized boy leading him. Of course, the easiest way to exact revenge would be to openly charge Nottingham Castle, armed to the tooth. Most men would have chosen that course of action. But Wilfred was a far more intelligent person than the typical barbarians, who leapt eagerly at the chance to satisfy their bloodlust. He knew there was a far more fulfilling path to vengeance, one that could easily be trodden by a strategic person, with much patience.  
  
And Wilfred was a cunning man.  
  
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A/N: So the old man plots. *cue the evil laughter* I love cunning old men. And Gisbourne arrives. Problematic, eh? Hope you liked! 


	20. Allan, you weasel with a perm

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A/N: Woo-hoo! I have VERY clever reviewers. You all caught onto the fact that Marian and her father think the other is innocent. (and the fact that such an impression is a load of crap!)  
  
And to answer a question: Lord Wilfred knows that Marian was friends with Robin since she was, like, five. But he thinks that she kind of let that friendship slide when Robin was outlawed. Sucker.  
  
But anyways, EVERYONE would get a signed copy if this thing was published (even if I had to stalk you), in case I did not make that clear. (just kidding about the stalker thing, guys)  
  
Now a note about me: I just signed up for indoor track (that actually practices OUTdoors in the snow), and so now my fat (affectionately named "author's chunk") might be going away! *claps* SO if I forget to update on Fridays once a month, please forgive me! Hehe. Physical exercise, foreign as it is, upsets me. (just kidding!)  
  
Anyways, enjoy!  
  
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The peasant children were running everywhere. Allan had taught them how to play "plague", a game in which one person pretends to be the leper and chases everyone else around. If he touches you, you're the leper. And the whole lot of them was engaged in a furious chase. Currently, seven people claimed to be "infected". So, the outlaws had to calm them down.  
  
Will grabbed one of them by the collar and forced the child to sit. Sara was doing likewise. She flung another one down and muttered to Will, "If I had my way, they'd all get a good sound beating about the backside." She sighed. "SIT DOWN, WILL YOU?" Sara had very little patience with children, almost as little as Will did. No one listened.  
  
Robin, who had been instructing David in the art of fletching, looked up. "I see they've proved themselves incompetent again," he mumbled, smirking. David shrugged, still staring at his arrow and trying to find each of the seventeen flaws Robin had explained. Of course, he hadn't really been listening, so that could be a problem. But agreeing silently bought him thinking time.  
  
After a few more minutes of absolute havoc, Robin stood up. "I'll be back in a minute." David smiled. Good. Time to figure out what he'd done wrong.  
  
Robin stalked over to Will. "They're just getting up again," he mumbled, watching Will's last three victims spring into a run. Will frowned. "What else can I do, pray tell?" Robin smirked. He flung his arms wide and cried, "WOULD ALL THE NORMANS PLEASE STAND UP?" Instantly, every child in the area sat down neatly. Even the disobedient ones stopped running for fear of being ridiculed by their peers. Robin grinned. "Don't you love children?" he said, beaming with pleasure. He placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder and smirked boastingly. Will rolled his eyes, and was about to reply.  
  
But the children, as is typical of young people, had sat down for one reason - to pick on whoever wasn't. Seeing as all the people their own age were seated, they went to the first elder they could find.  
  
"ROBIN'S A NORMAN! ROBIN'S A NORMAN!" A score of tiny fingers pointed accusingly at the outlaw leader. Sara, in a fit of childish glee, joined them, soon to be followed by David.  
  
Will laughed loudly. "Aye, children are great," he replied, still sniggering. Robin sighed, and bit the side of his lip. This was going to be an amusing game to get out of. "Go see Tuck," he ordered, "have him tell you a story."  
  
They shook their heads. "We don't take orders from a Norman!" someone giggled. Robin sighed and sat down. "Two choices - go see Tuck or help Sara and David on privy duty." The children squealed and ran for Friar Tuck, who had been silently praying and was quite surprised by this sudden zeal for storytelling.  
  
Robin stood up, smiling with satisfaction. Another successful endeavor.  
  
"Erm - Robin?" Allan was standing innocently by him, hands clasped behind his back as he smiled openly. For once, the torturous lute was not clasped in his pale, soft hands. It was actually a comical sight to see Robin next to Allan. He looked uglier, ganglier, dirtier, and much more haggard. It could have been that just the sight of Allan brought the premature worry lines into his forehead, and a black shadow of displeasure passed over his brow, but it was probably the unfair comparison.  
  
"Aye, Allan?" he asked, trying his hardest to sound pleasant. Allan smiled, obviously falling for the farce. "Have you decided whether or not your men are going to help me in the rescue of my Lucy?" he asked amiably, blinking a few times in outward incorruptibility. Robin nodded slowly. His head always ached when he thought of Allan's romantic request. It could have been that the mention of a noble love reminded him of the dungeon, and his burn mark flamed anew at the memories.  
  
"Allan, such a venture would be too dangerous for everyone," he replied with a sigh. Allan was going to comment on his cowardice and honor now, shamelessly debasing him. The pale minstrel's face twisted with rage, and he opened his pink lips to speak. Robin awaited the soft singer's voice, squeaking in indignation, but what came out was a bellow.  
  
"Simply because that Marian wretch sent you to the dungeon doesn't mean Lucy's like that!" Allan screamed, stamping an indignant foot. Robin stared at him. "Who told you that?" he hissed, flinching inwardly at the memories.  
  
"What does it matter? You're just a pessimistic bandit now, with no courage left, simply because some wench sent you to the sheriff. Oh, do recover, man!"  
  
Will stood up, fists clenched. This soft fop was not going to speak of his cousin that way. Robin didn't notice him; he was too absorbed in the malicious contortion powering Allan's face. "I - I - Allan, you need to -- "  
  
"You are the one who needs to improve yourself! Coward! Are you afraid of the nobility, then? Do you dread the toad betrothed to my Lucy? Afraid he's going to thrash you? Is that it?"  
  
"Allan, you need to think of -"  
  
"Do you know what I think, Master Robin Hood? I think you deserved to be put in that bloody dungeon. I think you deserved all that torture and -"  
  
Will punched Allan in the eye, and would have set about the rest of his face, but Robin grabbed his shoulder. "You wicked little bastard," Will hissed, "I'll make you regret those words." Allan glowered rebelliously at his assailant from the ground where he'd fallen, as if seriously considering taking on someone twice his size. "What? Does your craven leader need another man fighting his battles for him, too? A bully to do his dirty work? Is that all you are, William of Norwell? An outlaw's muscle?" Will ripped from Robin's clutches and lunged at Allan.  
  
Robin grabbed his cousin's arm and twisted it behind his back. Will cried out and froze. That really hurt. "Will, calm down," Robin ordered. Will struggled against the hold, but found that Robin was much stronger than he looked. "Do you think I want to hurt you, cousin?"  
  
"Fine! I'll leave the little lady alone."  
  
Robin released him, and he staggered forward a few steps. "You always let them say those lies to you," he mumbled, rubbing the sore part of his arm. Robin sighed, running both hands through his hair. He knew he was going to regret this decision. Seriously regret it. "Allan, I have changed my mind. We will rescue your bride." With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out for his turn on watch, head down.  
  
Will turned on Allan. "Well done, you sniveling little weakling," he spat. Sara was making motions with her dagger, as if she were aiming for the minstrel. Everyone glowered at the pale musician. Allan sniffed indignantly. "It was his own doing," he replied coolly, striding aloofly past his tormentor. But as he reached for his lute, he began to doubt his own words.  
  
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***  
  
A.N: dun dun dun. Yea, the wedding seems totally out of the plot, but that's OK. Because it has to do with the pending happy ending. (yea, guys, I can occasionally be nice to my characters. Hehe) I hope you enjoyed this!!! And again, I have to emphasize how awesome you guys are!!!!!!  
  
And just one last question for lulu bell - what story do you know Geoffrey from? I've never read a story that he's in; I just liked the name. hehe.  
  
And a note to all: YOU ROOOOOOOOCK! 


	21. The Weasel and the Angel

A/N: Hello everyone! I hope you had wonderful holidays and a nice, LONG vacation these past few weeks!  
  
And now to answer a few questions that more than one reviewer has asked.  
  
Firstly - no writer's block cuz I started a new story. I just liked writing that. But you all were so funny when all the reviews were like, "yea, yea, good story - but update turnjerkin!" You made my day. But anyways-  
  
I finished writing this thing a while ago (minus decent proofreading). And so I separated all that I have into chapters last night (yea, I have no life) and there'll be about 30 or 31 chapters when this is finished (that includes an epilogue kind of thingie). So we're kind of coming to the end. But John will be back!  
  
And I have read The Outlaws of Sherwood - one of my absolute favorite books ever. I cried so hard (alright, so I laughed really hard, too - "Robin was on top of Nigel, repeatedly knocking his head into the ground..'Some things never change,' Will said." *giggles madly* No, that wasn't a direct quote. I improvised. (But Much is my idol god of the vertically challenged!!) Anyways---- I've also read Lady of the Forest. I read the sequel, too. That wasn't as good as the first one. Poor Will in them both, though!  
  
*Psst! Nobody wants to hear you talk about books, OutlawEris! Shut up and get on with the story!*  
  
Ahem. *clears throat* And now a question from me - who's your favorite character? (That question fascinates me for some reason - ask anyone who's ever gone to a movie with me. hehe)  
  
Enjoy!  
  
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***  
Aedre smiled brightly at me. Her pretty grey eyes sparkled as she hummed to herself, fingers clasped contentedly in her lap. Her bushy golden hair was covered in petite white flowers under her veil. She wore one of my nicest gowns, a bright blue one with white lining at the collar. And Edward could not take his eyes off her. Myself, I was in a dark green dress, a color Robin always said made me 'perfectly beautiful'. My hair was let down like Aedre's; it arched around me in a great curled mess that I loathed. Everyone else was envious of that great difficulty for some ridiculous reason. Those simpletons. I am not fool enough to complain of the beauty I am told I have (even those who do are LIARS), but the hair-eugh!  
  
We were seated inside the church on Lord Oliver's estate. He had ordered its construction after marrying his first wife, a plump cheerful woman with a passion for God. Sadly, she did not feel such an ardor for her husband. However, the thralls of the estate adored her for her constant kindness and sweet disposition. She always said that she could see God in every single one of them. It was a sad occasion when she passed. There was not a day that went by that she did not laugh. It brought mirth back to an estate accustomed to cruelty.  
  
This new bride did not seem at all like Lady Natalie. She was a waif-thin, petite girl, so timidly perfect that it was rather difficult to believe her real. She was more an angel, floating elegantly on the thin wisps of cloud that made her dress. She was trembling, pale face twisted by fear as the Lord Oliver took her long, graceful hands in his own fat fingers, covering their unadorned beauty with his own ring-plastered sausages. The timorous seraph peered up at him through long, thick eyelashes. You could barely see her glistening grey eyes through their pale veil. Her thin blonde hair was let loose over her small shoulders and covered by a white veil. She was gorgeous, drifting in all that white. Her stunning face bore the expression of a humbly suffering archangel as she watched her husband-to-be leer at her.  
  
Suddenly, the closed doors or the church burst open. Robin was standing in the doorway, arms akimbo, hair dyed blonde, and wicked grin plastered on his face. He pointed to the senseless guard at his feet. "I suppose that this is yours?" he asked, raising a single cocky eyebrow. Seeing anxious Robin play 'Robin Hood' was almost hilarious. One minute he's counting heads and biting his nonexistent nails, the next he's smirking and taunting the powerful lords of Nottingham.  
  
Lord Oliver unsheathed his sword. The angel gasped and placed two delicate fingers against her rose lips. He did not want to appear a heartless man, so he grabbed her wrist and kissed her forehead. "But a moment, my dearest," he whispered, stroking her fair face with his greasy fingers. She nodded hesitantly, whimpering in fear (of Lord Oliver or Robin I know not).  
  
Some short blonde fop stepped into the room behind Robin, frowning. The angel turned around to stare at him, eyes wide with shock and happiness. "Oh, my Allan!" she cried, breathless in exultation, hand splayed across her chest. He smiled. "Lucy, love, I told you I would come!" he called in return, eyes bright with adoration. She smiled at him with her lips, a single fragile tear trickling down her cheek. "Oh, darling, you've come to liberate me!" She clutched her heart faintly, watching him as if he were a divine redeemer. I snorted. Please, just save yourself.  
  
Robin sighed. "Allan, I told you to stay outside," he muttered, completely ruining the moment. I snorted in amusement. Robin knew how to cut the sappy stuff off really fast. Allan nodded. "I needed only a glimpse of my beloved," he replied, gazing passionately up at Lucy, and then raced joyfully out the door. Will stepped beside Robin, eyeing Lord Oliver dangerously. "Seventeen guards in here, five in that hall behind the altar, and eleven in the corridor leading to the confessionary. What do you want us to do?"  
  
"Your group shall take this hall, my group will take the altar hall, and the rest take the corridor." Will nodded and stepped back, muttering directions. With a sigh, Robin unsheathed a sword he was not going to use and arched the annoying eyebrow again. He paused a moment for effect, and then cried, "Forward, bandits!" (I had helped create that ridiculous rallying call, even though he loathed it beyond everything. Even now his eyebrow twitched. But for some reason, the peasants loved it. I guess it sounded nice in ballads or something)  
  
Lord Oliver froze midway in his pursuit of Robin. He was not ready for the stampeded of outlaws that stormed into the church, brandishing staves, bows, daggers, and swords. "Use the staff if you can," Robin reminded, and raised his own. I stared at them. Would they kill us, the patrons of the wedding?  
  
Pfft! This is ROBIN we're talking about.  
  
Despite the kindness, five minutes later, it was havoc in the hall. The ladies were screeching in fear and collapsing every few moments. Young men were fumbling for their weapons and roaring threats. The older men were carrying their fainted wives into the fresh air, while bellowing at their youthful fellows to work on the swordsmanship. I was racing around in a desperate search for Aedre; she had disappeared into the crowd. I was frightened for her safety. Not that I would suspect the outlaws of harming her, but Robin had a nasty habit of overestimating the decency of humanity. One of the guards tried to keep me in my pew, so I knocked him out with the hilt of my dagger. I always wore it under my dresses. One can never be too safe, especially if betrothed to Richard. Where had I forgotten to check? Of course, the hallway behind the altar. I leapt out of my pew, stepping on another guard's head in my descent.  
  
I slipped through the fighting easily once I had wrestled my way out of my pew. I wondered vaguely how loudly Aedre could scream as I headed for the stone hallway. Lord Oliver had spent a lot of money on this church, even the floors were stone. I raced madly through the beautifully decorated corridor, a part of me wishing to remain and view the tapestries. But I hardly had time for doubts. The passage was not too long, only one corner to turn.  
  
I passed this aforementioned corner, and gasped at what I saw. Robin was on the ground, chest pinned to the floor by a guard's foot. He still held both sword and staff stubbornly, though it was quite obvious that they were useless in this situation. The guard's sword was held closely against his throat, posed for the kill.  
  
Before I realized what I was doing, I rammed the heavy hilt of my dagger into the guard's thick skull. He crumpled to the earth, senseless. Robin stared up at me, and his eyes were bright with shock and surprise. I shrugged and backed away. Assured that I meant him no harm, he stood up slowly, watching me as if I were a dangerous dog with violent tendencies. His fingers tightened round both his staff and sword, although it was evident I could kill him if I wanted to, with the dark bruises on both his wrists. I smiled benignly at him and spun around. Poor Aedre was still missing.  
  
"Marian."  
  
I turned my head in the fading sunlight and caught a full glance of Robin. His sword was clasped in his hand, casting slender flashes of light on the stone wall from where it dangled listlessly in his bony fingers. His face was stained with splashes of blood, although his sword was clean. It was the staff remaining in his other hand that bore traces of battle.  
  
I paused in my dash for Aedre to watch him. He, too, ceased to run, eyes glancing at me with what seemed to be very little interest. I was a dash of sunlight, a spider's web, something insignificantly pretty that happened to be placed in his current path. And he had only thought to look for a moment. But he was frozen longer than that. And the two of us drifted silently in each other's eyes, alone in that ethereal hallway, surrounded by encasing stone.  
  
"Marian," he began again, and his voice bore neither malice nor distress as it echoed in our passage. Only slight curiosity, the type of greeting one would give an acquaintance. I replied by looking straight into his eyes. "Aye, Robin?"  
  
My words seemed unable to rouse him from the dream wafting through his eyes, when he peered at me with that remarkable detachment. A wry, sad, little smile gained his lips - but only for a moment. Why didn't he smile like he used to? Not even when Will jested would he smile fully, without that sadness that seemed to weigh every expression of happiness. Every laugh, every smirk, even his bloody smiles were never right. There was always something sad about them that I could not describe. Something I wished would go away and leave him alone.  
  
When he met my eyes with that same weight on his timid smile, I saw what it was that weighed him down then.  
  
Me.  
  
I have hurt a lot of people - I'm been obnoxious, self-centered, loud and rude. But Robin --- I did, I think, in the only selfish way I can, admit to loving him. Not aloud, of course, but to myself - aye, I think I did. In the infernal words of minstrels, I would have died for him. I would have gone to death with murder on my soul if I knew it meant he would not smile like that ever again.  
  
And I think that is why I said what I did. I rarely have fits of compulsion, and so if love is what they say of it, it must have affected my senses. But he seemed so longing, so lonely and hurt - he was singular in his misery. And it was so bloody unfair. He took on the misery and suffering of so many people in the shire - where were they to take on his burden? Maybe it was rage at that; maybe it was love for him; mayhap it was even the remote empathy that moves us to help the lowliest of strangers. I don't know. But that expression on his face drew him into my present, a wretched ghost summoned from a past best forgotten.  
  
I smiled timidly in response, turning somewhat, so that one shoulder was closer to his body than the other. "I have missed you," I blurted.  
  
He blinked two or three times in surprise, tilting his head to the side almost imperceptibly. The sounds of a minor battle, one of staves against swords, clamored in the distance. "And.well, and I you," he finally continued, and the left corner of his mouth curled upward. It was the look he had given me before I hurt him, before I betrayed him. I wanted to forget that it really was any different than his face said. But the burn mark across his face was still visible, an awful reminder of how things stood.  
  
I took a single tentative step forward. "I'm sorry, Robin," I murmured, gazing plaintively at him. Good God, that pain I had put him through. Why had I changed everything? Nay, why had I ruined everything? He observed my motions, my eyes, my longing - all with that horribly impassive glance. Where was the look of before? My eyes watered girlishly, and from somewhere deep inside my stomach, self-disgust gurgled upwards. But it was crushed by the dead weight of my heart as it sank deep into the wretched recesses of my soul.  
  
And then a hand was on the side of my face, gently gracing my chin. The feel of his fingers upon my skin beckoned my heart upward and towards it. Yet his face, despite the tender gesture, remained odd. He was watching me for a reaction, almost as if he thought I should be disgusted at his touch. Instead, I also lay my hand upon his face, and a smile broke loose upon my face. Unlike stoic Robin, I could not keep my joy hidden. Or mayhap he felt no ecstasy at my presence, as I did at his. He seemed so puzzled. What was wrong with him?  
  
His face twitched as both eyes darted to his feet. He fought with himself for a few moments, and for a trice I thought him capable of mastering emotion and scowling at me. But he stepped towards me, even closer than before, fear and longing both fighting for control of his eyes.  
  
Suddenly, his lips lay softly against my own. Quietly, timidly - damn him, so quickly - he kissed me, barely meeting my lips. I shivered, scarcely able to keep the familiar fire from streaming through me. There was nothing to compare to this - nothing. I wanted to remain near him for every moment of my existence, exactly like this.  
  
He sharply withdrew from our kiss. I peered cautiously upward at his face. He blinked in surprise at himself. "I'm sorry, Marian," he whispered, "But I--- I have wanted to kiss you for so long-so bloody long --- I am sorry." He bobbed his head in a tiny bow. "I'm sorry to you, and to--- to the others. I am sorry that---" His face twisted with horror, and whatever he had done to be sorry for seemed inevitable. I met his eyes, and all the emotions in him passed before me. Lord, I saw pain - so much pain, and the helpless confusion of someone who hates none but himself.  
  
He staggered backwards, literally shoving himself away from me. Both long arms flailed to support the thin frame they were attached to as he tripped towards the floor. I reached out to help him up, but he shook his head violently. "Nay, Nay; don't, Mari. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He darted to his feet, turning around to find the way from this hallway. I watched him leave me as he moved towards his friends - his loyal friends, who protected him from the one thing he could not raise a shield against - me.  
  
"What are you sorry for?" I asked, knowing he would not answer.  
  
To my surprise, he turned to me one last time. "I am sorry to you, and to Will, and Sarah, and Nan, and David, and - and all those in the forest. I am sorry."  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
I still wake up some nights dreaming about that despairing look he wore before tearing away from me - the pleading, miserable, lonely stare from eyes that wanted to be hollow of emotion, the cup of sorrow too full to selfishly release its heavy contents on a world.  
  
"I'm sorry I love you."  
  
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***  
  
Will brought his staff cracking on the skull of another guard. The sentinel collapsed uselessly on the floor. That was the last of them. He sighed, wiped the blood from his forehead, and looked up. Sara knocked another guard down, her back to his. "Isn't this romantic?" she asked, laughing at her own sarcasm. Will grinned. "Oh, aye," he replied. They'd finally knocked them all out. Every single bloody one. The patrons of the wedding were long gone.  
  
Robin appeared. "They've deadened those seven in the corridor, and my group knocked out the five in the altar hallway." Sarah brushed a few strands of hair out her face. "What group?" she asked, "You didn't have a group. Only Will, David, and John did." Will turned on his cousin, glaring. "Robin---"  
  
"It's my damn fault we're in this mess, isn't it?"  
  
"Five of them on your own! I ought to throttle you."  
  
"Ha! If only you could catch me."  
  
Allan bounced up to them, leading an exultant Lucy past an infuriated and bound Lord Oliver. "Well, we are to be married, aren't we?" he asked, beaming merrily at her. She smiled and brushed the side of his face. "Allan, I missed you so desperately, sweetheart." Will rolled his eyes at Sara. "Please, NEVER say anything that foppish to me. I just might have to slap you." She snickered. "May CHRIST smack me if I ever act like that."  
  
Robin nodded. "Onto the altar, love birds," he called, pointing at the aforementioned goal and frowning. The two, still holding hands, raced down the aisle. The priest, originally to wed Lord Oliver and Lucy, was now being forced, under threat of death, to marry her to Allan. He stared nervously at the two young sweethearts as they headed towards him. May the Lord forgive him.  
  
With an abrupt halt that still seemed graceful, Lucy released Allan's hand. He turned around in surprise. "What is wrong, love?" he asked, simpering strangely. The angel placed a single subtle finger against her slightly pointed chin. "Someone needs to give the bride away," she replied, smiling as if it were pleasantly obvious. Allan turned to the outlaws.  
  
David, Will, and John pointed at Robin. He glowered at them. "But, David brought---" Will shook his head. "It's your fault we're in this mess," he quoted, smirking. Sara grinned. "Robin'll do it!" she called, leaning to the left of Will so that they might see her. Allan nodded, and then shrugged helplessly at Lucy.  
  
Robin glared at Sara. "You'll have privy duty for months," he muttered darkly, stalking crossly towards the fragile Lucy. He forced the scowl off his face, and grimaced in what was supposed to be a smile. Her pretty eyes widened in shock or fear, and she held out her hand for him to lead her up the aisle. Having never been to a wedding, or heard of how one was run, Robin did not take the hint. He picked her up under the armpits and dumped her unceremoniously beside Allan. "There, you're given away," he proclaimed.  
  
Will burst into laughter, clutching his sides. Robin turned his head to stare awkwardly. "What did I do?" he asked, sounding truly puzzled. Will only laughed harder.  
  
After a pause to compose herself, Lucy smiled benevolently at him. "Nothing," she promised, and then turned back to Allan. "Dearest, it is high time we were wed, don't you think?" Her face was bright, not only with the nature pale of her countenance, but with the newfound radiance of freedom. She kissed him politely on the lips, gracing the side of his face with her tender hand. Sara sidled over to Will's side. "I'm a better kisser than that, right?" she asked, raising a disgusted eyebrow. Will smiled. "I'll be damned if you aren't."  
  
Allan, however found this brief indulgence more than adequate. The two turned to the priest, and he quickly completed the necessary vows. As soon as the essential formalities were over with, Lucy grabbed Allan's shirtfront and kissed him. Brief words were exchanged as she delicately kissed him, betraying not a hint of passion as she covered his cheek with kisses.  
  
Nan sighed romantically. She thought it was sweet to see them kissing like that, completely innocent in their young infatuation. David was gazing in absorption at his fingernails, thoroughly bored with the ceremony. Will and Sara were holding each other, snickering at frequent intervals. Even John seemed interested, smiling in his silent way. Tuck was standing in a corner, hands tucked into each other as they wrapped round his formidable paunch. He was grinning exultantly, chuckling at the obvious affection. Nan looked for Robin. He was gone.  
  
She slipped out the door after him, sure to keep her feet quiet. He was leaning against the wall of the church, eyes closed against one emotion or the other. With extreme caution, Nan crept forward. But she wasn't less than five feet away from him when he called, "Hello, Nan. I was only checking if the guards had awoken from their sleep yet." She started in surprise, but smiled despite herself. "Had they?"  
  
"Only two of them."  
  
"I take it that you handled the situation?"  
  
"Nay, Nan. I am only a ghost come to haunt you. You'll find my body round the corner."  
  
She giggled. "Are you feeling all right?" she asked, locking her hands together and stepping towards him. Catching on to the discordant note of pity in her voice, Robin covered up his emotions with the eternal sarcasm. "Actually, death isn't even remotely painful. You'll have to mention that to Allan. He exaggerates the experience in those ballads." Nan sighed, crossing her arms and scowling. "Robin, you know perfectly well what I mean," she replied. He shrugged. "I do not wallow in the kitchen swill of self-pity like some egotistic hog."  
  
"You were betrayed, Robin, and you loved her. You have an --" Robin opened one eye and stood up. He pointed a finger at her, smiling contentedly. "And that, Nan, is where your little theory of my inner torment falls apart. I 'was' betrayed, and I 'did' love her. Those events have already passed, and anyone with any pride would not dare convince themselves that it is perfectly fine to dwell morbidly on those events. They have PASSED, and so have my emotions concerning them." He frowned and returned to the former position against the wall.  
  
Nan watched him with the concerned affection she gave everyone. "So you don't love her?" she asked quietly, wanting to hug him and offer comfort, but knowing that he wouldn't tolerate such compassion. Robin's shoulders slumped. "If only," he replied, and his steady voice broke.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
A/N: Haha. Now everyone hates you Robin! *Robin pouts* There'll be an explanation next chapter, worry not if you're confused. Hope you had fun with this sort of long chapter, because somebody better be happy around here. I won't. Because I have to run the stupid 1000 meter at my track meet tomorrow!! At least I got to run the 600 last time, but this -- *joins Robin in pouting* I'll be dead. D-E-D - dead. (haha. I love Men in Tights)  
  
Enjoy and pity me (not Robin - ME!)! hehe 


	22. Age Brings Wisdom

A/N: Erm...yeah. In case anyone can't tell, I had major writer's block, and couldn't finish this chapter (I'd only had the Lucy part written. I'm getting all sorts of those nasty surprises when I open my "finished" story. *frowns*). But I DID finish it (horribly) and --- yeah. *stares blankly at keyboard* So you can probably expect the next chapter this weekend, cuz that only needs slight editing ----- I think. And it'll make up for this short piece of junk.  
  
You can blame my drama lady for this atrocity, though. She made me a dancer in the musical, and I can't dance. Author chunk gets in the way again, you know? (And my track coach wants me to do *shudder* outdoor track. I swear I'm being stalked. Every time he walks by me in the halls he whispers, "Slacker!") It's mental stress. But now that February vacation is here---- *grins maniacally*  
  
And this story takes place in the year 1194 (which is the year that King Richard came home from Crusade. *hint hint*) Right now we're in the beginning of that year, if you couldn't tell by how Sara wanted spring to come early in another chapter. Before that it was late 1193. You get it, right? (winter is from December to February. December would be the 1193. January and February the 1194. But medieval people wouldn't call that the end of the year, so I didn't mention it. Spring began their year, in March.)  
  
And speaking of our favorite Irish woman, worry not, Sara haters, she does indeed have privy duty next chapter. Hehehe.  
  


* * *

  
"Come now, Sara, she isn't THAT bad," Robin said, watching Lucy's archery progress with one eye. He always had to watch the target practice, because none of the others could identify the minor issues that kept their brilliant archers from hitting the center. But Lucy's problems – those were obvious.  
  
Will shook his head. "Oh, believe me, cousin, she is." Lucy's frail, soft hands were breaking with calluses as she struggled with the bowstring. The arrow went askew once more, landing in David's target.  
  
"Lucy, you're flinching. You shouldn't move until the arrow is released." She whirled around and scowled at Robin, upper lip curling slightly. "I KNEW that," she growled, quaking with barely suppressed rage. Both Will and Sara rolled their eyes in near unison, arms crossed. Even Robin inhaled deeply to control his temper. "Of course you did," he replied, causing the lady to start with surprise, "Now you simply need to APPLY that knowledge." He smiled brightly and stepped back to watch. Lucy eyed him dangerously, and her frown only increased when Robin continued to smile encouragingly. "False bastard," she muttered, and fired.  
  
The bow fell out of her hands when she released, and the arrow – not even Saint Anthony could have found it as it scurried off to hide in Sherwood.  
  
"Well, maybe she is a bit clumsy," Robin conceded quietly, the worry line forming a ravine in his forehead. He sighed loudly, not meaning to. Why had he ever brought her here? She was not made for this; neither was Allan. But she had taken it well, considering the obvious shock she must have been in. Instead of replying with disgust or shock in her voice, she had smiled at Allan and told him it was wonderfully romantic to be living in a deep, dark forest. "Just like your ballads," she had comforted, grinning.  
  
However, only around Allan was she so optimistic. The truth came out whenever her husband was on watch. Will called her "Lucifer" whenever she began one of her tirades. Of course, she always directed the speeches at a particular victim or sympathetic ear, but in a tone loud enough for everyone – mostly Robin – to hear. Just that morning, she had been ranting about the lack of facial cleanliness in the camp. "Decent Christians do not walk round with three weeks of filth on their faces, Robin! For heaven's sake, you are the leader of this group, and yet I'd warrant your face has not been decently scrubbed in a fortnight! Grime has certainly won the day on your face!"  
  
Robin calmly replied that it was not much of a victory for the dirt, as he was thought rather ugly, and the filth should have aimed higher. Such responses set the fair lady seething furiously, because she thought it "unnatural". It infuriated her that his ego would not be bruised by remarks that had set grown men blushing.  
  
That probably explained her tendency for whining. Every five minutes she would complain of an ailment. Her fingers callused; her dress was ripped; her hair was dirty; she was tired. Complaining took up the major part of her everyday activities.  
  
Now she stalked out of the clearing, ranting furiously. Robin shrugged. "She'll be lost again, I suppose," he murmured, watching her retreating form with a degree of amusement. Despite her best attempts to maintain a ladylike air, Lucy was tripping over her skirts and the roots all over her path. "Mayhap I can send Allan to find her. His tracking skills are less than satisfactory."  
  
Sara drew her dagger from its sheath. "Oh, aye, I know where he'll find her - at the bottom of the river with this darling through her neck!" She licked the edge of the dagger, watching David for a reaction. He groaned, hunching his shoulders. "God, Sara! That is positively loathsome." She smirked and sheathed one of her seven daggers again, while Will tried his hardest not to laugh aloud.  
  
John came running into camp. Robin immediately abandoned his pursuit of Lucy's defense to see what the problem was. John's watch was not over for at least an hour. "A problem, I suppose?" he began quietly, trying not to alarm any of those watching. John nodded silently, worry evident in eyes that some described as beastlike. It pained Robin how everyone seemed to forget that John was human. He might as well have been animal to most – huge and silent, like some upright beast of burden. And he was rather frightening if you didn't know his character. But now it was the giant who seemed frightened; whatever he'd seen, he didn't like it. Robin smiled reassuringly at him, and particularly reminded himself of every human aspect in that return smile.  
  
But there was not a long time to study that smile. After only half a minute of quick hand motions, he nodded firmly and thanked John. Then he ran over to Will and Sara. "John says he's seen an elderly wealthy man in the forest – wandering alone. We're going to go confront him right now. John and I will go talk to him; you two follow us from behind. Sara, bring your daggers, and Will, ready your sword. Hal, lead the third patrol behind us." He strung his own bow, and added half a dozen arrows to the quiver on his back. The arrows were made very well, but not of his own hands, and he wondered who else made such lovely shafts.  
  
Catching wind of Hal's frantic breathing, he met his patrol leader's nervous face, smiling weakly. "All I'm begging you to remember is that the woodcock is a call for help, not the owl. Then all will be fine. But, pray, everyone, be careful. This seems far too easy to be true."  
  


* * *

  
Robin blinked through the greenery. The situation was just as John had described it – an elderly member of the nobility wandering through the woods without his purse. All he held in his withered hands was a piece of parchment. Robin frowned to himself. He didn't like having anything out of the ordinary wandering in the forest. It meant that a plot was afoot. Or a troupe of foresters.  
  
After a pause for contemplation, he whistled loudly in imitation of the mistle thrush. It was the bird call for "Does anyone recognize this person?" He waited a few seconds, and then the return call (song thrush) sounded. Someone knew this old man.  
  
Will came up beside him, kneeling. "The Lord of Whitby," he whispered quickly, eyeing his cousin with warning, and then disappeared into the trees again to join Sara and Giles behind the oak Robin heaved a sigh, turning to John wearily. So far, the man hadn't realized he was being followed, but it could be an act. Marian must have inherited the knack for play-acting from someone.  
  
Robin bit his nether lip in anxiety. This could be a serious problem. He shrugged at his black-bearded companion. The larger man twitched his head towards their intruder and nodded. It was worth a shot to go after him. They were at least five score rods from camp; if a difficulty arose, escape would be easy enough. Robin could see this rational side of John's decision, but his paranoia was gaining hold and gnawing at his common sense. Noting his leader's hesitation, John smirked and poked him in the forehead. Robin blinked in surprise, slowly lifting his hand to discover what had been jabbed. A laughing smile crossed his face as all three searching fingers traced over the familiar worry line. Still smiling, he nodded his agreement and shrieked the barn owl.  
  
He and John stepped in front of the trespasser; the former with his bow drawn; the latter with his staff ready. The man's face twitched with shock at the obvious hostility and he blanched. Robin prayed that this fool did not know his bowstring would be slack in exactly twelve seconds.  
  
"Please drop your weapons!" the man cried, and his voice did not squeak with fear as most. Robin quickly obliged so as not to expose a weakness. "Why do you come to Sherwood, sir?" he snapped, standing with his legs spread and chin higher than usual. John's brow was furrowed, and his seasoned quarterstaff let out a silent threat from where it rested in grudging dormancy between his strong hands.  
  
"I come to seek out Robin Hood."  
  
"For what purpose, sheriff's spy?" He made a threatening move, almost to lift the bow again. He sensed the patrol stepping out behind him, and could only imagine the show they were putting on to frighten this unwanted guest.  
  
The Lord of Whitby snapped a piece of parchment before Robin's dark eyes, giving the outlaw enough time to read a few choice sentences. "I have some information about that official he may be interested in."  
  
The bird call for peace rang off the trees.  
  


* * *

  
A/N: I got a little cliff-hanger-like there. Hehe. Well, I hope you enjoyed the plot at least. And thanks for reading!!!! You rock my socks  
  


* * *

  
And guess what this cool kid did this weekend? I met TAMORA PIERCE!! She was the coolest lady ever and is now my idol. And I saw an awesome display of medieval fighting techniques (including daggers and longsword), with a really cute guy manning the halberd. In tights and a loose tunic with low neckline. Hell yeah.  
  
And I have a question for everyone – what's the difference between a morning star and a flail? (random question, yeah, but my friend and I were wondering) 


	23. Wolf in Man's Clothing

**A/N: Guess what time it is again? Reviewer responses! Get happy! *grins* And enjoy the chapter! **

**Amadea**– You're the only to like my slightly cliffhanger ending! Lol. Thanks for the support. *glares at everyone else* hehe. Jk jk. And I like to think of annoying Lucy as being like homework – necessary evil. Hehehe. Of course it was fun seeing cute guys in tights! Why else would I be obsessed with Robin Hood? Haha. Just kidding; just kidding. 

**AnyaAnanda** – Snapple caps are the bomb! My Southern cousins have a collection of them; they're such science geeks. And I know I was evil to leave a half-cliffhanger. But  cliffies are my evil indulgence, like chocolate and cute guys in tights ----(Will Scarlett – old Robin Hood – hell yeah. Did you notice he's always the hot one? Cuz I sure did. *wink wink*)  Hahaha. Speaking of which, he's all yours. I don't think anybody else likes him that much. Lol. They dyed Robin's hair for the public appearance so that no one would catch onto their little lie about Robin being blonde. (yea; I carried that over from Love Bites, cuz they were originally part of my one big story. Sorry!) 

**Black Sheep Alone** – You get to go to Renne Fairs? Lucky duck. Anyhoot, the display of fighting techniques was put on by the Higgins Armory in the Northeast, and it's the only museum dedicated to medieval fighting in the Northern Hemisphere. Hehehe. It was put on by Boskone 41 at some hotel. Tamora Pierce I met cuz she runs this thing called "Tea With Tammy"; you can check if it's coming near you on her site under appearances. 

**Dragon-of-the-North** – Firstly, you poor thing! Writing a thesis is a beast; my aunt and my cousin were both living off coffee for weeks and ranting about it. And you crack me up! You really do love the crafty old gentlemen, don't you? And it makes me all chipmunk giddy when you say you like "my" Robin and Sara. Also thanks for the suggestion on the flail and morning star. This cute, smart, funny, (a.k.a perfect) kid at the library asked me, since he was told I'm a medieval expert by my friend, and I soo badly wanted to tell him cuz it would make conversation. You rock!!! (both for giving me a way to talk w/cutie, and for writing such brilliant reviews!) 

**IndigoDream**– Oh Lordie, you laugh out loud? *giggles excitedly* Oh, you just made my day – no, my life! My sister said I forgot about comic relief (she also said it should be about Legolas, HER favorite archer, but I ignored that). Hah! So she can bite it! Oh you made my life. Anyhoot, thanks for being the grammar check machine, since I didn't send ch. 21 to my beta buddy. And Allan is your fave? *laughs*  Sorry, but I love him too, in his own little prick way. You're a musician? What instrument do you play? And worry not, I love long reviews! (Especially as I tend to write them) 

**Kate/Eh,Man** – Best beta buddy ever! Hehehe. Thank you so much for the proofreading; it's not useless at all and it often makes me think and rephrase things completely for the better. *claps* You rock my socks!!! Just ask Indigo Dream, the Grammar Machine, all the chapters I don't send to you end up messed up in grammar. Haha. 

**Llyra**** Monroe** –  "Lord Shiva", eh? Sounds classic. And your friends tape the segments from the History Channel? That does sounds familiar ---- *eyes own collection of recordings* Erm, yeah. *hides tapes* lol. Anyways---Allan is still a virgin. Hahahaha. That question made me crack up, though, no matter how inappropriate. Because Robin doesn't like that in his camp – hehehe – because of the screaming, loud, guaranteed-to-get-us-caught brats that come from "it". And I love type-casting Mary-Sues. Mary-Sue bashing is a legitimate sport! At least in my book. And the title of chapter 21? I'm simple; it's simple. Hehehe. Now where's that fictionpress story, you slacker? And where's my Green Rider update? Slacker! Slacker! Slacker! I'll get my psycho track coach on you? Jk jk. And you know how you get your muse after I update? Same thing happens when you update before I do! Lol. Another funny thing you said – you make me crack up in your reviews; they're awesome – was that you'd date Robin in real life. Hahahaha. 

**Lulu ****Bell** – Great minds think alike! I was going to write about Sara having privy duty! Hahahahaha. It will be me pleasure to write that up. *laughs again* And Marian did find Aedre; worry not. And about Geoffrey, I just finished that book, In a Dark Wood, and it was so good! I can't believe it was a Michael Cadnum I hadn't read; I'd read the sequel. *laughs* But I loved the toothless dude – he was my idol! After the happiness of "what a great story", though, I was like, "Crap! Plagiarism", but then I remembered this is fanction. Copyright laws out the window. Lol. 

**Mianne** – Ooooh, I really liked the first chapter of your ficcie! My mom kicked me off the computer after I read only that much, so hopefully I get to read more later. And I met Tamora Pierce at this "Tea With Tammy" thing she runs. If you check her website and look under appearances, she might be 'coming soon to a town near you'. Hehehe. 

**Omlette**** Girl** – You are the best for figuring out the difference between those weapons. This cute guy who works at the library asked me, thinking I was a medieval expert, and so I was frantically trying to find the answer. You rock!!! He was so impressed by me. Lol. And that thing you asked about the time period? A bunch of people agreed with it, so I guess that I should have put that in. lol. Thanks! And you made me CRACK UP when you wrote "robin is a doormat (my love rob, anyhow). Because he is such a doormat. Hehehe. So true; so true. And you also suffer under a psycho track coach? We never get to practice inside, cuz we only have an outdoor track! It was 5 degrees out and we go for a jog round the track. My face was practically frozen off. Those bastard track coach psychos!!! Anyhoot, Allan is usually not such a weasel, but I was inspired by Robin McKinley's version of him to make the little flamer (jk jk) a brat. 

**Rhapsody's Song** – Haha. Lucy is a weirdo, but she's actually based off of people I actually know. (dun dun dun) And I met Tamora Pierce at this thing she runs called 'Tea With Tammy". You can see if it's coming to somewhere near you soon on her website under "appearances". And be jealous. Be very jealous. Hehehe. Just kidding. And thanks for the funny suggestions.  You made me laugh after a very depressing geometry test. *Stupid math!* And I'm glad you don't like Allan; some people do and you weren't supposed to. Hehehe.  

**Ruby **– Sorry about the evil cliffhanger-sort ending, but cliffhangers are my evil indulgence. *evil laugh* Anyhoot, you know me so well! "None of OutlawEris' characters are angels…" Hahaha. You saw right through that one. You just love sarcasm in characters, don't you? And I'm glad you like Marian; I was afraid she'd be too much of a b**** to handle. And you made my day when you said you like Sara and Marian's father and --- well, everyone but Robin! Lol. Jk jk. And sorry it took so long to update, but I have up ff.net for Lent, being a good little Christian. *snicker*

**Sherwood Girl** – Robin and Marian do get back together; worry not. I'm not THAT cruel. Marian does explain to Robin very soon. (Alright, more far than soon, but you know---) And I read Robin Hood: A Mythic Biography!!! That was such an informative book! I got seven new ideas for stories! It just hit the Robin Hood inspirational spot! And would you tell me some more titles? I've read about a bajillion of them as well, but I'm quite sure I missed some. Please share! 

**Sherwood Kitten** – Were it not for you, I would get no constructive criticism. Thanks so much! I really do need to improve the way I write things, and so I am very glade for your tips. See, this was originally part of a bigger story I wrote, and I took out this incident and made it a ficcie. This is a problem, cuz it was in the middle of my original, which means I often forget to explain characters. Thank you so much! And I'm glad you enjoy! 

**The Brilliant Fool – **So glad you like this! Enjoy and keep the Robin Hood love strong!****

**Yael** – I'm sorry I didn't update soon, but I gave up updating for Lent. *sigh* Being such an angelic Christian is just so difficult sometimes. (Just kidding! The only angel I'll ever be is one of those that got kicked out of heaven! lol)  

******** ***                     

I jabbed the bone needle into the altar cloth again, muttering furiously to myself about the idiocy of my society. Aedre was helping me with the hideously mutilated flower in the center. She smiled up at me, shivering in the cold air. She was draped with one of her homespun wool blankets, and though I may say this because she is my cousin, she weaves the finest in all Christendom. She was quite fond of weaving even before she had begun to meticulously weave her solid, warm blanket for "those poor dear doves in the woods… Oh, they are so thin, Mari. The thickness of this blanket shall have to bear the weight their bones will not." She was a social thing, and she craved human interaction.

I smiled fondly at her, and she giggled, shaking her head at the sad excuse for Saint Dunstan on the altar cloth. I grinned forcibly at her, remembering how she used to sit me down when I returned from Sherwood and beg for the story of Robin's reaction and the happy outcries that always followed the arrival of more warmth. And though Will made the same joke every time, Aedre giggled madly when I recounted his thanks: "Ha! Now Rob won't be sleeping naked tonight – thank you, Mari!" He loved to make fun of Robin's tendency to give his shirt to anyone who didn't have a blanket at night. And she would laugh even harder if I told that Sara were there to say she "would have been blinded" if she'd awoken to that sight "once more".  And the massive grin that spread across John's face when he saw how large they were. The laughter that came from Robin when he threw a blanket over my head and wouldn't let me see anything until I promised to marry the venison stew he had made. The way everyone screamed it was poison and burnt and he'd probably spilt half of it and pissed in the pot to make up for the loss and ----

God, I couldn't think about that now. 

I couldn't think about anything now. 

Embroidery had become the ninth ring of Hell. Aedre and I used to fill the silence with my stories of Sherwood and its inhabitants. But I could console myself no longer. I could never go back to there, because my heart would begin to pull at its strings and the entire bloody tapestry would fall apart. 

I wished that I had even half the skill Aedre did with strings, both those that held her life and her weavings. She was humming quietly, tapping her foot gently as she effortlessly seamed over my mistakes, giving Dunstan a nose with the thread plucked out from what had been his third leg.  I arched an eyebrow at her inner merriment. "How can you stand this?" I cried. Her head snapped up from surveying a recently etched nostril, and she smiled brightly. "Ah, Marian, your portrayal of Dunstan makes me smile." She grinned down at my mutant saint, who had three fingers coming from his arse. "But why do you ask? Are you falling into boredom, my Marian? I am sure I could make conversation."

"Aye, I'm bored! I would much rather be off---" I gulped back tears and furrowed my brow at the twisted lily I was finishing.  

Aedre paused in her elated stitchery to frown sympathetically. "Oh, poor Mari," she cooed, "I suppose this must be tedious for you, but think of how nice it will look on the altar!" I scowled, jabbing the needle straight into my own finger. "And who to admire it, pray tell?" I sneered, trying to clot my blood on a lovely red peony Aedre had crafted. Saint Dunstan was much too fond of damned flowers. My cousin sighed and replied, "Mari, must you be so irritable?"

I arched a derogatory eyebrow and she giggled again. "Ah, why did I bother to ask?"

"Ask what, Aedre?" My father came rushing into my room. I peered up from my irritating work and forced the furious glower from my face.  His eyes were frantic as he sought my gaze, but when I let my lips turn sweetly upward with play-acted nonchalance, all the stress of him dissipated. 

Aedre stood and held out her arms to embrace him. He smiled at his niece and returned the exuberant hug, grinning at me over her shoulder. 

After my willowy cousin seated herself, exultant at the unexpected company, he sat down beside us, smiling. I grinned lovingly and turned my cheek so that he might kiss it. "Good day, Father. How are you?" 

He drew a strand of my hair behind my ear. "I am fine, dove.  And you?" 

"A bit bored, but Aedre makes lovely company, doesn't she?" My cousin smiled brightly as I continued. "But Father, you look perplexed. Might I help answer your question?" I smiled sweetly at him, but Aedre's eyebrow arched; she knew I made no 'concerned inquiry'. 

"That you can, my daughter. Do you remember that peasant boy – Robin? You used to play with him when you were younger?"

My fingers twitched, but I nodded calmly. "Oh, aye, Father." 

"He used to be quite good with bird calls, was he not?" Holy Lord---

"Aye, Father. He had quite a handle on even the difficult ones." Please don't let him ask---

"Ah, I thought so. But, I – well, did he--" Curses. 

"Aye, sir, he is now Robin Hood." 

"I – well, I did not mean to bring up---"

"He is not a murderer!" I barked, nearly screaming,. My father and Aedre both started, and their passive shock, quietly coming forth from their docile faces, irritated me beyond measure.  Had they no souls? Were they never enraged or irritated? They blinked in near unison, still the astounded deer I knew them as. Nay, there was no anger in them. Had there ever been doubt? "I – well, he did not mean to kill Ralph the forester is all," I continued, quickly and quietly, trying to cover my outburst, "He was aiming for the man's bow arm." I waited for them to murmur understanding and sympathies, but Aedre only refused to meet my eyes. And my father – my own father- _arched an eyebrow_, of all things. "Well, he may have said that, but-" My father started. 

"What? He would LIE to me?" How could he not believe? He had _known_ Robin; he was damn well aware that Robin NEVER lost his temper! And he knew he was my friend! But my father was suddenly pure, stupid, useless, inaccurate reason – reason without feeling.  

"Robin was the best archer in the shire, Mari," he reasoned quietly, "It can hardly be true that he would miss such an-" 

"Robin cannot be expected to aim carefully when his LIFE is being threatened!" I clenched my fists. Wherefore did he have such audacity? Who did he think we were talking about? This was not William temper-from-Hell Norwell or drunk-buffoon Richard! This was my Robin!

But did that matter to my father? "Marian, the man could hit a bulls-eye blindfolded at the age of four, for heaven's-"

"Good God, he still wakes screaming Ralph's name in his nightmares!" I screeched, shocking myself. Aedre's head jerked upwards, and her eyes widened in warning terror for one world-splitting moment. 

                Oh, damn it all to Hell. 

My father froze and stared at me in horror and disbelief. "How – how do you know this?" he whispered. I clamped a hand over my mouth, and Aedre dropped her bone needle. I could not find the strength to reply.  I had just given away my upheld secret of years in a stupid fit of passion.  My promise of secrecy melted off my tongue and shuffled backward into the growing pool of guilt in the back of my mind. 

"I will repeat myself but once, child – how do you know this?" He stood up, anger in his eyes. And the entire world and all its injustices and pain was culminated in his uncalled for expression. 

"Robin is my friend, Father, and I did not abandon him because he defended himself!" I screamed, "He was frightened and injured when he was banished to Sherwood, and he needed help! I do not care what you or anyone else says, because in God's eyes he is innocent! Are you fool enough to think that bastards like the king's bounty hunters, who kill for _pleasure_, are better than Robin, who is afraid to even enter a church because he thinks himself so unholy?" I threw up my hands and then glowered at him. 

My father blinked curiously at my fuming face, and his expression fell. He sighed and kissed my forehead. I grudgingly allowed the gesture, though my senses recoiled against allowing easy forgiveness. "Marian, I tell you this for your good, not to encourage intervention. I fear what you may do if you hear it from another." I paused in my inner raging to watch him suspiciously. What was he suggesting? 

"One can see it as a predestined trial by combat, I suppose." A lump rose in my throat. Not Gisbourne; Lord, don't let it be Gisbourne… Any hunter but Gisbourne. Guy of Gisbourne was the king's best outlaw hunter; it was said he could smell blood like the wolf he resembled. That I doubted, but I dared not doubt his swordsmanship. He was deadly and famed throughout England for his skill, and noble fathers coveted his instruction for their sons. But he would only instruct the best (one of which happened to be Will, who had come closest of any man in England to actually besting Gisbourne).  And he only killed the best outlaws - mercilessly. 

I had met him only once when I was younger, but he had frightened me. There was a ruthless coldness in everything he did and said; he had sent Will's sister into tears and beaten Will bloody for being bested by one of the younger boys. Every sensible creature for miles was frightened of him. Robin had told me that horses were spooked by him, and the birds flew away from the man before you could even see him. He scared all Hell from any animal, including people. 

"You must promise me you will not try to save the outlaw from Gisbourne." 

Heart and breath both froze within me "… unfair as the fight may seem to you, the life of an outlaw is not worth your death." Something akin to anger churned through my veins , and a tremor ran through me. How could he say such--- 

The wheels of my mind began to spin. 

At this point, I wish I could say how angry I was when my father dared say such things, that I raged and preached about equality, but I was stupidly calm. There was not a way in heaven he could make me stay, that I knew. And so all that mattered were the lies that I had to say. 

I am an EXCELLENT liar. 

Sniffing softly, I nodded. I forced my eyes to water, and the struggle to imitate tears was so strenuous that I actually had to blink them back. "Aye, father, I understand." My voice quivered delightfully. (I am quite proud of myself for this performance) "And I am sure that Robin will victor, because it is he who deserves the victory." I seated myself quietly, blinking furiously at the altar cloth. 

After my father left, Aedre snorted. "That was as true as a babe's aim," she muttered. I arched an eyebrow, smirking. "Well, are you going to help me?" 

****** ******

                Aedre squealed and grabbed my arm, slamming me into the wall. The both of us drew in deep breath, sucking our stomachs inward. My father stepped from his rooms around the corner, and I motioned for Aedre to distract him. She stepped out into the hallway, beaming. "Milord, have you seen Marian?" 

                Wilfred, noble lord of Norwell and military strategist, turned pale at the very mention. "Nay; I've not. And yourself?" 

                "I've had no sight of her since she left her chambers." 

                "And when was that?" 

                "But a trice after you gave us news of Gisbourne." 

                "In which direction has she gone?" 

                "The---" Aedre clapped a delicate hand to her pursed mouth. God praise all play-actors. "The stables," she whispered, the shock in her voice so sweetly evident. My father locked his hand round her wrist, and the both of them scurried towards the stable yard in a flustered pair. 

                I smirked and made my slow progress towards my father's chambers. Surely enough, he had left the door unbarred. God bless all the innocent. I seated myself on one of the carved benches in my father's room and began leafing through the parchment on the table. I was truly hoping to find some of Gisbourne's strategy. Our _beloved_ sheriff often sent his outlaw capture strategies to my father for correction, and my dear sire did his civic duty and perfected the ideas as he saw best. It was hardly his fault that the innocent daughter he sent as messenger occasionally altered them. After all, "fifty hens" does look ever so much like "fifty men". Surely it was a switch of the quill.  

                Footsteps sounded down the hall, and I dove under my father's other table, the one he ate upon if working ran too late. Luckily, he had thrown his cloak upon it, and so with my back to the wall and his cloak to shield my front side, none but the most perceptive would note my presence. 

                God curse my father's perceptive nature.

                He entered the room, and quietly shut the door behind his guest. I arched an eyebrow, trying to recognize the voice of this intruder on my efforts. He was quite unknown to me at the moment, however, and I struggled with my curiosity. Oh, but he made me shiver just by entering. I wanted a look at the man so badly. 

                "Good day, Sir Gisbourne." WHAT? The most bloodthirsty, bounty-hunting monster in all sweet England was in my manor? 

                "The same to you, milord Wilfred." _Pfft__! I'm sure. _

                "What brings you to Whitby without notice, sir?" _A bloodthirsty rampage, perhaps?_

                "The sheriff has insisted I review my plans for capture of the Sherwood ruffians with you. It seems he trusts your tactical prowess verily." _Somebody doesn't sound so happy about that._

                "I am flattered, Gisbourne. But you are after more than _one_ ruffian?" _Nay, father, you must be jesting._ I could not resist my sarcastic thoughts. 

                "Aye. It seems the leading bastard has a bastard cousin and a bastard giant behind him, either of which would replace his bastard hide if he died." _Why ,__ my gratitude for the information, Gisbourne. I must admit I was quite unaware of Robin's excess illegitimacy. _

The knight belched pleasantly, as if responding that it was no trouble at all.

                "I see," my father continued, eyebrow arching involuntarily as his eyes ran over the plans. "So you will kill all in the bandit camp?"

                "If you would read the plans, Lord Whitby, you would see that I'm to capture the leader _alive _after he surrenders, and take him to Nottingham Dungeons." 

                "Why would anyone want such a creature alive?" My father seemed quite irritated, but I saw his wince of sympathy. 

                "It seems milord sheriff is in the mood for a little _woodland entertainment_, if you catch me." _Charming._  

                "Ah, of course. But if the outlaw should resist surrender to you?" 

                 "Then I've all permission to enjoy my own woodland entertainment." _And still more charming._

                "And how do you plan to attack the others _if_ the coward tells you where they are?" 

                "I've the foresters of Sherwood coming up the High Road to take the camp and its inhabitants – _when_ their leader has revealed its location to me." 

                "Ah, but why, pray tell, would he do that? These woodland people are very loyal to one another." 

                "When you have a man in so much in pain that he begs weeping for death, he'll forget all loyalty to anyone." 

                They continued in this train of speaking, reviewing Gisbourne's overall strategy to be sure of its accuracy. I scowled with frustration beneath the tabletop, biting one of my nails anxiously. Gisbourne sounded positively ecstatic whenever any mention of Robin's murder entered the conversation, and after one too many merry descriptions of the upcoming murder, I was ready to take my hands and lock them round the man's bloodthirsty throat. But I restrained myself despite an avid desire to take him by the hair and slam some sense into his thick head. 

                Fortunately, he stood in some sort of huff and exited the room with one of his famous curt farewells. My father sighed to himself. "Good day, sir knight, and remember that mercy is a Christian moral." 

                "I do not waste my mercy on outlaws." 

                "Gisbourne, your bloodlust will be your undoing. They move swiftly in those woods; if you do not finish the outlaw quickly his followers will finish you." 

                The knight laughed obnoxiously. "A scraggly lot of green peasants best an armed knight? You truly are a witty man, Lord Wilfred." 

                "Gisbourne," my father was exasperated, "Robin Hood does not only gather peasants. William of Norwell is among them; you will remember his skill with the blade well." 

                "And you will do well to remember that it was I who taught him." 

                "The pupil can surpass the master." 

                "That is hardly relevant, as I am facing his bastard leader and not him." 

                "That 'bastard' leader is his cousin, and I will warn you that William never has and never will let anyone touch his cousin." 

                Gisbourne snorted. "Then how did some maid manage to drag the bastard to Nottingham Dungeons?" He laughed coldly. "I promise you, my lord, I can handle this hooded peasant and his sot of a cousin as well. After all, I've the element of surprise." 

                I smirked beneath my table. Mayhap you can take Robin and Will, you cruel bastard, but you've forgotten one part of the equation. 

                Me. 

************* ********* *****

A/N: Hi all! I have indeed returned and I'm not dead; aren't you proud of me? *cricket chirps* Erm—yeah. Guess what I did while I was gone though? I got to take archery lessons every Tuesday! I held the bow upside down the first time and sent five arrows into the parking lot, but it was so much fun! Oh, God, when we got into the position and took aim, it felt so Nottingham Archery Tournament!! (Alright, so my friend and I were surrounded by seven and eight year old boys who were ten times better than we were, but it's the principal of the thing, eh?)  My mom thought I was the biggest loser she'd ever met when I came home and told her how cool it was. She gave me that "we need to get you normal friends" look. 


	24. I Can't Handle the Truth!

A/N: No, I am not dead! Hehe. I almost did die from finals (beastly, that Latin one), but I rose from the ashes like a phoenix. (haha. Only question I got write on Latin final!) But anyhoot, sorry about Gisbourne's language last chapter. But that's how I wanted him to come off – one of those loser guys who likes picking on other people and swears because he thinks it makes him cool. rolls eyes Yeah, you could call him a "foil". (hah! One of 3 questions I got right on the English final---) So in one way, I'm glad he offended you, but on another level, I'm not. Lol.

Also, I know the little mock fight is uneccesary and has nothing to do with the plot, but I needed practice for later climactic fight scene. So tell me if it makes sense, and if not (the more likely! ;-)option) could you tell me how to make it easier to get? Because I have so many comprehension problems when it comes to action scenes. So don't think you'll sound stupid if you say 'I had no idea what was going on'. You have no idea what stupid is until you've seen me translate a Trojan battle sequence in Latin. Flashback "Excuse me, Mr. Maher, but why did Hector's mother drag Achilles and his chariot's dead body around the mural three times?" jk jk. I didn't dare ask that. It was just going on in my mind. Lol.

Enjoy!

* * *

Will blew air from his mouth irritably. "_David…"_ he began, but the other fighter was already stuttering. "This is not bloody fair! It's not fair by any bloody standards of any bloody game in all of bloody England!" Ignoring David's blatant overuse of a certain adjective, Will held out a hand to help him up. They had been practicing the outlaws' fighting skills for nearly two hours, and still not a one of them could take him. Of course, it was sword against dagger, but that was how they would end up fighting the higher ranks of foresters.

"Aye, Will, it's hardly a fair expectation on your part. Nobody could take a swordsman with only two daggers in their hands." Hal added. And after a pause, "Even if a fellow were to do his best."

"Robin can," Will mumbled, eyeing his cousin, who was praising some new peasant for a supposed "improvement" on her fletching. Noticing that the arrow's feathers were split a dozen different ways, he wondered what the former attempt had been like.

"Prove it," Ellie snapped, crossing her arms and arching a skeptic's eyebrow. She looked all too much like Sara. "Very well," Will replied, and her mouth fell open; she'd been sure he was bluffing.

Robin, as usual, was not happy about being "summoned as braggart", but he agreed to help demonstrate. As word got around camp that Robin was going to fight Will, a group of onlookers moved slowly towards them. John, who was supposed to skin a rabbit, quietly made his way through the shade of the trees to the edge of the group. Like the rest of the outlaws, he heartily enjoyed watching Robin manage by miracle after miracle to best a man twice his size.

"Am I allowed two daggers, Will?" Robin asked, disarming himself quietly. The dagger hidden up his sleeve; in his boot; strapped to his leg – and those two he wore on his belt. Rolling his eyes at Robin's paranoia, Will nodded. "You with two wooden daggers; I've my wooden sword." They practiced with wooden weapons for obvious reasons, and it was considered cheating to have any metal weapons on you, even if you didn't use them.

"How are we starting?" Robin continued, slipping from his "boots". (What Robin defined as appropriate footwear differed greatly from the norm. His present choice of boot consisted of two broken soles stitched clumsily to various filthy rags, the whole lot of which was bound clumsily to his legs with rope)

Will shrugged. "How are foresters trained to begin?" he asked.

"Ox guard," Robin replied, spinning the practice daggers once to check their weight.

Will muttered a curse, as he thought ox guard to be a willing submission to chest wounds, but he complied unwillingly, bringing the sword level with his forehead. Both hands kept the hilt firmly between one another, and one of his feet came forward. Ox guard was basically a preparation for one quick killing downward blow. It was a bit crude, and so that explained its popularity among trainers of Sherwood's foresters.

Robin decided to counter by beginning in cross-guard. Since Will was going to have to come down hard, the defensive stance, with the flat faces of both weapons against his crossed arms, was best.

The crowd counted to three best as they could, some adding a five or nine, and then the two cousins went at it.

Will's blade came down straight for his opponent's chest, but Robin countered by locking the sword between his two daggers. But he did not have half the strength of his cousin, and he knew it. He could only hold it for a moment before his arms fell.

Will tensed once and then gave his sword a tremendous shove. It came downward with irritating accuracy through Robin's outstretched defense. The latter dove to the right so that the blade lodged itself in the earth. David cheered, but it turned into a cry of warning as Will swung his blade around to catch Robin unawares.

The dagger-man ducked down to avoid it, and Will kicked him in the head so he fell backwards. Cursing his stupidity, Robin rolled to the left and got to one knee. As the larger man approached, he kept him off with a few haphazard slashes of the dagger. Will's hesitation was just enough to give him time to stand.

A moment later, Will brought the sword towards him again, and he barely managed to keep the weapon from his chest by crossing the daggers again. His arms trembled with the effort of keeping Will at bay. The sword felt so bloody heavy, despite its wooden composition. Maybe he was only weak; but it had to have been the sword-man's strength. Saints, Will was tough.

Failing, Robin backed away, and Will's blade tripped him at his ankle, knocking him onto his stomach. The shock hit his arm first, and he hissed at the bruise born in his elbow. That was going to hurt later.

Something wooden shot downward from above, and in a quick panic Robin locked both daggers round the ankle nearest his head and pulled it towards him. Will landed with a grunt on his back, and the small assailant dove for his exposed opponent with the wooden murder weapons, but was sent staggering backwards by the vicious flat of the sword. Being thin was Hell.

Will had really knocked the wind from him, though he likely hadn't meant to. He never did. Gasping for breath his lungs stubbornly refused to accept, Robin made a hasty retreat.

Will paused for a moment, worried he'd hurt him. Maybe he had rammed that thing a little too hard into his cousin's ribs. Did he break any? Sara would KILL him if he did; those bloody bones had taken so long to heal. Oh, curses of all the saints, did he---

"Don't be soft on him, Will!" someone called. Robin heaved a weary breath and stubbornly returned to cross guard. His cousin sighed and brought the sword erect. The dagger-man began to circle, frightened at his ignorance of Will's next move. The sword-man was smiling, keeping that sword high and matching Robin no matter the angles of his circle.

And that was when the smaller pacing man got his idea.

He struck suddenly, crossing his two daggers like scissors and locking them round Will's neck and sword. The wooden blade was pinned flat against its owner's shocked face. Using all the strength in his twig arms, he forced the larger man up against a tree and dug his daggers into the wood. Satisfied that his opponent was trapped, he took a bow, smiling wearily.

The group of students cheered happily at their leader's improvisation, but their cheers turned to groans of disappointment when he released Will's neck. "Fourth watch, get out there!" he called, grinning as he tore the practice weapons from their hold. "That means you, William of Norwell," Ellie sneered, dropping a few arrows into her quiver.

"That's not my name anymore," Will barked angrily. He hated being a nobleman's son; he hated the nobleman whose son he was. He hated the pomp and the title and the unmatched cruelty--

"Well, pardon me, my LORDSH--"

"Leave it alone, Ellie," Robin snapped. She blew air from her mouth and rolled exasperated eyes at him. "It was only the truth."

"Ellie, I told you to leave it---"

"Shut your stew hole, Rob," Will interrupted, "I can defend myself."

Ellie snorted. "Well, judging by that fight, I'd have to say---"

"ELLIE!"

Robin sighed to himself as the discontented fourth watch stalked into the woodlands. Now Will and Ellie were angry with him, and the list just seemed to mount by the minute. He needed to learn to keep his condescending mouth shut.

Nan came up to him and murmured something about his ribs. He scowled. Little vanity as he had, it still embarrassed him to have everyone in camp stare at his scars. And so he was stubborn unnecessarily and refused to let her see. "Good God, don't coddle, Nan!"

"Rob, it's me or Sara who'll be looking at you. And you know she'll make such a ruckus over your 'foolery' that the whole forest will hear." He frowned as she arched an eyebrow at him and obediently lifted his tunic. "See? Nothing broken at all!" And for once there really was little wrong with him, but she still didn't like being able to count all his ribs. She mentioned quietly that he ought to eat a bit more, eyeing him meaningfully. While she knew that irritated Robin, it didn't seem to bother him half as much as the looks he got from some of the others when they saw his scars.

"Heavens, Rob, we aren't so overcrowded you must limit your meals to once a week," Nan remarked sarcastically. Ignoring her, he jerked his tunic down as the last tolerable compassionate glance fell on him. That was _quite_ enough pity for the moment. "Rob, are you listening to me at all?" Nan snapped. "Good God, I think some of the children have larger waists than you do!" He rolled his eyes dismissively. "And I thought Sara was the one who exagger---"

"I do what, Robin?" Sara asked, cocking a challenging eyebrow as she returned from her turn on privy duty.

"Nothing, Sara."

She walked towards him, holding out a palm that was bleeding right below her middle finger. "Now, dove, THIS is what I do! I stay on privy duty for an _eternity _and hurt myself because of a certain _scarecrow."_ Robin hadn't exactly defined two digs as an eternity, since each lasted a half hour, but he still felt badly. "Sorry, Sara," he said.

"Ach, you gullible fool, I just fed you a heaping load of blarney." She plopped down on a nearby log, smirking with self-satisfaction, and ran fingers through her hair. "It doesn't hurt at all, and it's really David's fault, anyways." She glared at the sixteen-year-old, who was pouting at his own outstretched hands. He looked up at mention of his name in exasperation. "Don't yell at me again! I already said I'm awful sorry-like for telling you it was fine to pick out the calluses, Sara," he murmured, trying to clot his own wounds on his leg, "Didn't think they'd bleed or anything like that, but – well, I heard Will telling Allan that picking the calluses open makes them feel better! So don't yell at _me_ when it's your bloody _love's _fault. And don't yell at Robin either!" __

"I'm not yelling at Robin about that, you barmy fool!" She paused, leaning forward with spread legs like a man. "But it _is_ unfair that you let the fourth watch come in so soon, Rob. I saw them on my way in; they're already heading back! Why the favoritism, eh?" She tested the stew with her finger. "Eh, not so good as mine. But, really, Rob, why do they get to come in early? I'd marry _Allan_ if it would shorten mydullwatch." She propped her feet on the log and leaned backwards. "Your English foresters never do anything exciting. Now, if they were Irish---"

But Robin wasn't listening. Let the watch come in early? He had never said---

Will, who led the fourth watch, entered camp snarling and threw a breathing heap of green cloth onto the ground. The obviously fine fabric splattered in the damp spring soil as Sara froze in her rampaging to stare. The girl draped in the wool groaned from the pain of impact, and struggled to her elbows. Auburn hair slipped from a loose braid as she gasped, and Robin paused to watch her recover. David started forward to help her up, easing away from the threatening Irishwoman. However, Will grabbed their guest roughly round the upper arms and forced her to stand, heedless of the wheezing noises she threw forth. She drew her head upward, and her proud face shifted to the left as she tried to snarl at Will. Her delicate profile stood out against the deep green of Sherwood, marred by a few simple scratches and one of the forest's filthy olive kisses.

Marian. Marian. Marian. Marian.

She looked up at Robin, and he noticed a scratch across her left eyebrow, likely from the twigs of Sherwood. Her proud eyes sank to fear as Will yanked her arms even father behind her back. Hair long as her cry of pain fell forward into her face, and she winced pleadingly at him.

"Gisbourne is coming!" she screeched, and her voice strained pitifully, "He is already here, Robin, and he is hired to kill you all!" Will yanked her arm up even higher behind her back, and she cried out, leaning forward to ease the sting. "Will," Sara warned, and he eased his grip – slightly.

Robin only watched. His breath grew shallow and quick, so that he drew air like the criminals of the wastes. Will, who still held Marian fast, stared furiously at him, as if sentencing her to death was obviously the only way to handle the intrusion. Robin blinked a few times, still breathing rather quickly.

He looked over at Marian, and she _scared_ him. _Please do not lie…Please let her be telling the truth…_ She was so calm now, slumped comfortably while Will held her arms fast behind her. No pleading, no fear…why was she so immovable? Why was she so calm in her helplessness when he was scared witless in determining her fate? Why did she not cry out? Why in God's name did she still make him tremble?

"I – she may be telling the truth," he said finally, and his head snapped round to look at Will for approval. He knew she had lifted her head, and her eyes bore two holes in the side of his temple, but he tried to ignore the sensation. His cousin scowled. "And if she isn't?"

Robin glanced nervously at Marian, only his eyes darting to hers. And if she had shown any fear of him in that moment, he would have forgiven her instantly and set her free. But she only stared at him, that wrenching, waiting, expectant expression lying immobile on her face. _She must be telling the truth…By the Rood, she must._ He gulped. "If we find that she lies, we kill her."

He was sure of himself in that choice.

He was confident.

He knew what he was doing.

He was lying through his chattering teeth.

And when it was late and cold out, he could lie to himself no longer. Countless times he would sit bolt upright, gasping in fear of some forgotten monster in his sleeping mind. He had this sort of trouble sleeping often, which was why he habitually volunteered for the night watches, as he was one of the few able to stay awake.

But it was a cloudy night to be awake, and a slight mist of rain was falling onto his shoulders as he sat trying to name that latest nightmare creature. He shivered in the chill of night, wondering vaguely if he should be asleep. He decided it was most unnecessary, as his watch was in a half hour or so. Will would want him to sleep, as would Sara, but he could not. Not when guilty thoughts drifted through his swimming head.

He often wondered if his new status as outlaw leader was the cause of these frequent bouts of restlessness. It was always difficult to sleep when he knew someone was out on watch. They were his responsibility, and if he was sleeping while they were hurt or captured or killed or—he'd never forgive himself. But other times he was sure the cause was a cowardly fear of foresters. And other nights he would wake in a terror that only the dungeons could have been in his dreams.

But tonight he knew it was her. He knew it was the sleeping smile on her lovely face and that ---

Nay. It was the weather, was it not? Rain was _positively_ irritating.

Ah, but the rain was, thankfully, staying at a slight drizzle. Robin blew air out of his mouth irritably. What use was living in a forest if you couldn't even keep the rain off your back? He stood to meander through the fringes of tree at their camp's edge. Hopefully those leaves would be enough to keep him relatively dry. In the cloudy night, there was little available moonlight to fall on those who dreamt in the clearing, but it was clear enough to show their leader how many bare heads were pelted with rainwater. Robin traveled around to all the sleeping outlaws and pulled their hoods up. There was no need for them to catch unnecessary chills and colds when they could prevent it.

But the peasants, huddled together in the center near the fire, were another story. Most of them did not have hoods, or even decent clothing. Robin hurried over to the storage cave, tripping over someone's sleeping body. The walls of the cave were still damp from an incident earlier that day when Will and Sara had both been chasing Allan around with water buckets, trying to soak him. They had, unfortunately for the minstrel, succeeded as Robin came in from watch – just in time for Allan to knock their leader onto his back as Will's badly aimed bucketful of water ruined a dozen arrows. As he thought about it now, Robin had to admit to himself that it had been rather funny to watch Allan point an accusatory finger at Will, scowling as his perfect curls sagged round his face. And he may have spent too long lecturing Will on the dozens of illnesses that damp clothes could breed in the night. Aye, _mayhap_ two watches was a bit long.

Feeling rather disappointed in himself, he yanked out a good deal of extra blankets, and used them to cover the peasants. There beside him was Jack, who had run away from his abusive father; the poor thing clung to the edge of Robin's tunic constantly, afraid that his father was going to appear at any moment. Robin was sure to tuck the edges of the blanket under the boy's feet, and then he dropped a blanket over wild little Taine, who had blindly followed her older sister into Sherwood. Taine's older sister was covered next, a bad-tempered woman whose husband had been murdered by the sheriff's guards, who had later been murdered by this woman. After the murderess, the thrashing blacksmith Devon kicked the wool draped over his shoulders, as he had once kicked a nobleman's hunting dog – square in the eye, maiming it – for attacking his youngest son. Even in his violent sleep he cradled the arm from which a hand had been cut off as punishment. Ah, well, at least he did not weep and scream the names of his children as he had the night before. Robin walked around covering the rest of their refugees – beaten apprentices, battered wives, scarred rebels, overly punished peasants, victims of the forest laws, struggling fathers ashamed to beg…Oh, aye, they could not take on Gisbourne if they tried.

He retreated quietly to the protection of the trees. There. Now everyone was taken care of – he hoped. John and Gatty were still on watch, so they'd have to be looked after. But they looked after one another, so they should be fine. His weary eyes fell together, and he slumped against an oak tree. _Traitor._He jumped, eyes jerking open in shock. Oh, God, but it was true; he had betrayed them all with that wicked kiss he shared with Marian. He had betrayed them all in letting her live. Oh, but he could not kill her. And on Allan's wedding day, God, she had been so beautiful – so bloody gorgeous, like some ballad's nymph. Queen Eleanor herself was incompetent and hideous in the face of his Marian, no matter the temper and cruelty that second lady had shown him.

He wanted to tear his useless heart out as the ache returned – the painful self-hatred of the dungeons. Lord, the hole grew larger with each glimpse of her. Would it not leave him? He prayed for the pain inside of him to fade. He begged the saints to let the agonizing minutes heal him. He wanted the countless moments of loneliness to fade into some damned numb oblivion as they spiraled together, each pang canceling another out until time had become the poultice on his wounds. But he had been waiting months for that, fortnights of tortured solitude; sennights of elusive nightmares; days of baring his sore wounds to make them callous; hours and watches and moments spent watching her in his mind, trying to find her among the faces. Damn it; damn it; damn it. _Time heals nothing_, he thought bitterly, sinking down to the ground. Lord, it only made things worse. The appeal of that kiss was undeniable, but --- by the Rood, what had he done? How did he meet their eyes? Allan was right; he deserved the dungeon. He deserved the pain echoing in his body. He deserved it all for the inadequate, self-centered traitor that he was. He wanted her to laugh at him again, jab her spiteful finger at him in evil ridicule; he needed a penance for his sins. Restitution had to be made for that betraying kiss. But even more than that, he wanted her to love him. He wanted her to see the cowardice and the vanity in him, and love him despite it. He longed to tell her how he hated Will sometimes, how ungrateful and rude he wanted to be; he wanted her to answer every selfish sulking confession with the blind and selfless love he had returned for her treachery.

But that would never happen. Pigs would be crowned and dogs would command armies before anyone could see all the wickedness in him and still feel anything even remotely like love.

So why did he still hope for it?

Someone stirred in their sleep and knocked a wrist against the nearby tree trunk. Robin smirked. David was the most restless sleeper in all of England. Any village fool could see that. He remembered someone joking that the foresters could sneak as close to camp as they fancied at night, but the noise of David's sleep would drive the fellow away before he could get a shot at anyone. He grinned, trying to remember who had said it.

Marian.

He gulped and fingered the tattered edges of his sleeve, determined not to look at her. _I will conquer this. I will conquer this I will- _He ran fingers through his hair in frustration. _If I conquer this, the dead will rise. _The rain had decided to increase out of what he was sure could be nothing but pure spite. He shuddered. Why? Why? Why? Why did she still trap him in the gaze she gave in memories – the gaze of friendship and worry, the smile of a shared jest, the rolling eyes of lighthearted irritation. Why did he kiss her? Why? What had she done to apologize? What HAD SHE DONE?

_"My, lady, have you come your father?" _

_"I did it to save my father!" _

Yelps of memory tore across his confidence, shredding all surety in their wake. He shuddered, closing his eyes. There it was; there was the reason he still held out hope that she would love him. He would believe her soon; was there no defense against her words? Will's sneer chased off the memories, spitting out scorn at the proposition. _"Bloody bitch thinks we'll be victim to her lies again. She's damned wrong, she is. For her father? Pfft! In the country up my arse she did."_ Robin had smiled tolerantly, mild amusement shoved forth onto his face because he knew Will wanted him to smile.

But he had heard her with his own ears. He had heard her plead for her father; she had sounded so nervous as she pleaded for that old man… and for him. _"What ever he has done, he does not deserve Hell!"_ God, then why did she send him to the living Hell? He buried his face in his hands, feeling the self-hatred creep up his neck. It loomed over him like the inevitable. _Fool! Fool you are, to trust her word. What good has it been to you? Have her promises of before held out? Have they? And were you truly such a fantastic idiot that you were convinced they would?_

She was a liar, a traitor, a selfish lady of noble birth, but he could not kill her.

And he could not trust her.

Robin slowly took to his feet and crept towards her, gently removing the gag from around her mouth. She stirred in her sleep soon as he touched her and blinked in surprise at both his kindness and his actions. _God, how she looks at me…_ He frowned slightly at himself. "Leave."

Marian arched an eyebrow. "What are you doing? Why are you--?"

He clamped a hand over her mouth. "I cannot kill you, milady. Please leave before I am forced to betray the band to their faces."

"Robin, you---"

"I am a coward; milady." _Demons, I am the worst coward._ "I can't say that – I can't say that to – to Will." _You know I am too weak; you know I am a damned weakling._ "I can't admit this pointless weakness. Please."

"Robin, I _do not_ lie. Gisbourne is coming."

Good God, could she not show him mercy? The other outlaws had already seen him at his most pathetic when he was raving weakly with that fever. They had seen tears come from his eyes; they had heard him screaming for Will as he had when barely five winters; they had seen him cower in fear and whimper in pain. They would not see him cringe from murder. They would not.

"Mercy, milady. They cannot see how weak I--"

"They will not. I promise it." _She denies it no more than I do._ "Gisbourne comes for your head, and I do not lie. Trust me."

His eyes were guarded and cynical, spinning into despair. "I cannot."

For one moment, the cruel disregard faded from her face and she dropped the confident mask to reveal a hidden disappointment that played unnerving mirror to his own. "Then you will learn of my honesty through experience." She gestured with a sad jerk of her head to the disregarded gag. "Be wary; John comes in from watch."

* * *

A/N: oooh. Robin has issues again. Big surprise there! (Note sarcasm)

Will has issues (another shocker)

Marian IS an issue. (I'm just pulling these out of my ear, ain't I?)

Lol. Sorry. I was just in desperate need of sarcasm.

Hope you liked! I'll try to update sooner next time!


	25. Tempers Up and Swords Out

A/N::: You guys rock! Thanks for the help on that fight scene! (Virtual high fives all around) I do tend to under-use fighters' names. Hehe. It's a paranoia thing. Paranoia runs in the family; you should've seen my aunt when me cousins and I went "fun-yaking" (a.k.a kayaking w/out the net to keep you strapped in the boat. so you can't drown). 'Twas only Level 1 rapids, but my dad and brother still managed to tip over. Ah, good times. Yes, but my life's boring, so get on to the story and enjoy!

* * *

Will was crouching low in the bushes of Sherwood. John was to his left, the fingers of his right hand locked around a quarterstaff. Beside the giant, Robin was slowly setting an arrow to the bowstring, steady hawk-eyes focused on the deer before them. A sword hung from his belt, as it had ever since news of Gisbourne had reached them. But despite the hindrance, he quietly gained his footing and drew backwards, muscles tense with the strain of pulling a Welsh longbow. All was silent as the archer took deliberate aim. The forest held its magical breath, wondering if Robin Hood would miss a target for the first time. 

The bowstring snapped forward, forcing the captive arrow into motion.

"Oh, goodness! He hit it! You never hit anything, Rob!," Will snapped, fully enjoying his own sarcasm. After making sure he had a grin from both Robin and John, he cut off the high-pitched voice and whistled in admiration. "Seriously, though, that fat thing will feed the new lot we have in camp for at least a sennight."

"God help us if it doesn't," Robin agreed, stepping over the bushes and heading towards their latest illegal prize.

Will frowned, biting at the side of his lip. "We'd be better off if we didn't waste too much of the hunt feeding the Whitby wench."

Robin shut his eyes and set his teeth. _Don't yell; He's been on the edge all sennight. You know he hates her._ "Will," he began quietly, "she's only one _bloody_ person." _Slight slip of the temper there, Rob.__ Calm down._ "It can't make that much difference." He shrugged dismissively, hoping the subject would fade.

"It's been a sennight! And we still have no word or sight of Gisbourne or his men. Why should we feed the liar?"

_Well, this one's not going to fade, I can see. _Robin quietly hefted the deer onto his shoulders. "There _has_ been gossip in the taverns lately of Gisbourne's arrival. He won't attack with that talk about. He will wait until it dies down." __

Will snorted. "I can think of something else that should DIE."

"Ever heard of the fifth commandment?"

"Why shouldn't we kill her, Rob? Don't you remember what she DID to you?"

"Do you know what Gisbourne will DO to everyone in camp?"

Will tightened his fists. "_Should he even come_, I can promise that the bloodthirsty man won't make it as far as camp!"

Robin shrugged dismissively, keeping his voice nonchalant. "_You_ will not leave camp if he comes."

Will started forward, exasperation crackling into the familiar anger. "Excuse me?"

"I won't see you killed because I was too scared to face Gisbourne." Robin could not bring himself to make eye contact. If he met Will's eyes, it would be obvious that he _was _too scared to face Gisbourne.

"YOU?" Will's voice was the mocking one he used for bullying, and it nearly made Robin cringe. "YOU?" He laughed mockingly. "YOU face Gisbourne? Not while I'm alive!"

Robin felt his face flush, but he kept his voice quiet and calm. "Bounty hunters go after the leader. That's who they're paid to kill. If he kills me, or even if he captures me, he won't go after the camp!"

"And what if he's being paid to take the whole lot of us? Gisbourne will recognize me, Rob, and you know the money my father is offering for my return to Norwell."

Robin paused, fighting the retort he wanted to give. _No one knows better than I do. The sheriff of __Nottingham__ didn't try and make anyone else tell him if you were here. _But he was silent and crouched to put the deer down. _Please leave this alone,_ he begged silently. But Will was standing with his legs spread apart, arms crossed, and an expectant eyebrow cocked. As usual, he showed no signs of backing down. _Has he ever? _Robin quietly turned to the deer, as if there were something to be done with it. "Then--- well, then, I'll just have to make sure I'm taken alive. He'll have to take me to Nottingham right then and there so I don't escape, and he will leave you all alone."

"ALIVE?" Will's mouth dropped open. "_ALIVE_? Rob, do you really want to be taken ALIVE to Nottingham?"

Robin's head snapped around. "Of course I don't! But I'd rather face the dungeons than watch that mad knight carve the camp apart!"

"And _I_ would rather face Gisbourne than listen to you screaming for mercy at the hands of Nottingham! We all would!"

"Will, one life is not worth sacrificing dozens!" His arms flew into the air. "Good God, be reasonable!"

"Be reasonable? You can barely hold a sword upright, simpleton! And you expect to face England's best knight? What in God's name did you hit your thick head on?!"

Robin jumped to his feet and strode towards his cousin. "I won't have you fighting my battles for me!" he snapped, forcing himself to make eye contact. He wouldn't admit what he was thinking – _I won't have you die_.

"Why not? I have to defend you often enough around that bloody fop of a lute-player!"

"If you could just keep your nose out of things that don't concern you--"

"Doesn't concern me? You're my bloody cousin, Rob! Bonds of blood? Ever heard of them? We're supposed to protect our family!"

"That is what I'm damn well going to do! Gisbourne isn't coming near you or anyone else in camp!" Robin's finger went to his chest like the sword he knew would soon be planted there. "He'll kill me _and only me_!"

Will punched his cousin, snarling with the fury he could never suppress. That stubborn, self-righteous little mongrel! The guilt he usually felt when he lost it was gone, and he sneered when Robin staggered backwards. "Weakling!" he cried, leaning forward to rub his superior height in Robin's face. "You can't even take a blow! And you expect to take on Gisbourne?"

Robin charged forward to punch Will in the stomach. _I'll kill him. I'll strangle him. I'll…_But Will grabbed him by both shoulders and literally threw him across the clearing. The resulting impact with a rock nearly broke his skull, and arrows of lightning pounded against his eyelids. But the pain only fed that anger inside him that Will had set off. "Ha!" His cousin's voice laughed at him across the clearing. "You scrawny, witless, ugly, little wretch!" Will started towards him, and he readied himself to land another punch once the taller man got close enough. But John stepped between the both of them, glaring dangerously.

Will snarled at him, noticing that Nan was also there, wrapped in disapproval. _So the giant went to find the other hunt for reinforcements. I was wondering why he didn't knock me out when I hit Robin. _Nan was glaring ferociously at him, but John's scowl was fixed on Robin, who was trying to find a way to get at his cousin. "Will, stop losing your temper," Nan snapped, crossing her arms.

"What? Does Robin need a maid fighting his battles for him, now?"

Robin ducked under the giant's arm, finally free to attack, but Nan held him back with a warning glare. He paused, dark fury in his eyes as he considered diving at Will anyways. He wasn't used to this sort of anger, this helpless need to hit something, someone – Good God, he just wanted to land his fist in Will's eye. But there was Nan, the insistent frown on her face. _Bloody conscience._He reluctantly took a step backward and accepted the temporary peace.

Nan was utterly shocked. She was _somewhat_ sure the two cousins had never been as angry with each other as they were now, but she had _definitely _never seen Robin lose his temper this way. It frightened her, seeing him like he was. He and Will wore clenched fists and set jaws, and both furious expressions were quaking with the suppressed need to punch the other. The two pairs of dark eyes were locked together, hard and sharp with fury.

"Will," Nan barked, "you and John head back to camp with the deer, and Rob and I will continue the hunt. Understood?" A stubborn silence burnt the air between the two cousins as they stared each other down. She sighed in exasperation and stepped between them. Like some furious hen she pointed her sharp finger at Will, whom she was facing. "Get your arse back to camp and cool that bloody temper." He waited a moment, as if considering rebellion, but then he turned sharply on his heel and stalked from the clearing, John following behind him.

"Rob, come with me, you stubborn arse," Nan snapped, but the mulish streak in Robin kept shooting arrows from his pupils at Will. "ROBIN!" she snapped, and he turned to her, the anger still running through his blood. God, was Will really so dense?

He and Nan made their slow progress through the greenery in silence; she thought it best to leave him with his thoughts. Robin was grateful for the courtesy, since he had a lot of steam to shoot out his ears. God knew he loved Will like a brother, but the man had a temper like the fires of Damnation! And he was so bloody impossible! So stubborn and pigheaded and full of himself! Who was he to preach like that? What did he know about guilt? What did he know about responsibility? Robin pulled at his hair in frustration. God, what an ass his cousin could be!

Nan smirked sidelong at her friend. He was beginning to feel guilty about losing his temper; she knew by the slow way his fingers eased from their present course. But some sort of injustice obviously took him again, for he attacked his hair with all the more ferocity that moment, practically lifting himself from the ground.

"Rob, you shouldn't have lost your temper," she muttered, and he sighed, shoulders slumping. "I know," was the quiet reply. She smiled, pleased with the reply, but then he groaned, letting his arms drop sloppily. "Oh, God, I know."

He turned despairing eyes to her and she lifted a corner of her mouth in consolation. But it was such empty consolation. Her eyes dropped guiltily to the ground when he tried to return her smile. "Rob," she began softly, "even _I_ think Marian is lying." She brought an apologetic smile back from the ground to his face. "You can't blame Will for doing the same as the rest of us."

Robin started, and opened his mouth to correct her. They had hardly been arguing over the truth in Marian! But then he thought better of it, knowing she would probably say the same as Will had.

"I – I suppose we should suspect Marian," he agreed, shrugging.

Nan's smile faded a bit as Robin stopped to re-string his bow. She did not like the wince that came with every mention of Marian; it worried her. She did not like the indifference in Marian's face when she looked at Robin. She did not like the hatred in Will's eyes when he stared at their hostage. She did not like the sadness in her own heart when she saw the lines in Robin's face.

She did not love Robin; she knew that. But she did worry for him. They had lived near one another since childhood, and everyone had expected them to wed. After all, they were of the same status and quite fond of one another. The entire shire had her so convinced of the perfection in the match that she had even been irritated with Robin for failing to ask.

But then she had seen the way he looked at Marian.

Lord, how could anyone have missed the smile that crossed him when she came? How could even the blind pass over the love, concern, and happiness that she brought out of him?

And how could she do that to him?

Robin was playing thoughtfully with the sole of his shoe, which flapped ridiculously now. Nan reached over to stop his fingers. "You ought to take them off if they irritate you so," she offered, shrugging. Robin smiled wryly in return. "My legs are cold without them on, and if Sara sees my bare legs she always starts shoving stew down my throat."

They both laughed quietly as he unbound the mismatched scraps of leather and wool that served as his shoes, muttering about obsessive Irish wenches. "Ah, well, let's hope that I can trust you not to do the same." Nan grinned and leaned against her bow, looking down at him as he arched a suspicious eyebrow from the ground, dropping his 'shoes' into his quiver. He was back to himself now, no longer the uncharacteristic fury he had driven himself to be. He and Nan went on, murmuring to one another about the best glades to look for deer and how very much the newest outlaw reminded them of one.

And then his head jerked upright. "That's it," he murmured. Nan watched in fascination as he stepped quietly towards the trees, leaving almost no trace of passage in his usual eerie manner. Not even a bloody leaf stirred beneath his feet. It was then and only then she could have mistaken her gangly childhood friend for the old god of England minstrels called him.

Robin could feel something wrong in Sherwood. He had not heard a thrush in over an hour, and they were infamous amongst the outlaws for their constant irritating twittering (Will had the peasants practice their slingshot aim on the little buggers). Still, the little brats did have their quiet days when travelers kept from the road, and Robin had thought this one of those, but that last screaming dunnock had really sent something up his spine.

If the birds were moving, so was whatever scared them. Boar, wolf pack, foresters traveling en masse…any of them could be the cause; they'd scared the birds witless before.

Completely abandoning any thought of Nan, he mounted the nearest oak and began his quick, deft ascent to its peak. He swung upward with the agility of an African ape, unaware of the fond way Nan watched his eerily clever ascent. It amused her to no end, the calm way his jumping nerves reacted to the great heights of Sherwood's king oaks.

But they reacted in terror to the minor twittering of Earth's insignificants. And the horrifying sight of something gleaming. Something metal and shaped like a human being. _Why now? _Robin dove down from the highest branch of the oak and perched lightly atop the uppermost limb of a smaller yew. His thin fingers danced nervously along the wooden support before he darted his way past five more ashes and dove through a half dozen rowans to reach the lookout's oak.

There was no one to scream when his quiet bare feet dropped lightly atop the platform. He had known something was wrong, but did it have to be a knight? Did it have to be Gis—_Nay__, nay. You don't know that it's Gisbourne._ He peered through the foliage at their intruder.

The man's face was hard and cruel, nostrils flared. A blood thirst was rampant in every move of his agile body, and the dull gleam of his chain mail served as warning to even the most ferocious forest creature that this was not their fight. He had no evil in his natural features, but there was an eerie lack of compassion in the way he looked about him.

Robin trembled when he saw the ferocious knight's hand lock round the hilt of an even more fearful sword. The blade flashed in a single shard of Sherwood's sparing sunlight, sneering at the woodland's protected in its beauty and worth, then disappeared into the murky night of untamed forest. Oh, dear Heaven. Robin knew he had to get this man away from camp, he had to be taken, he had to…

"Come now, prince of thieves" the knight hissed to himself, sneering distastefully at his surroundings. "Come to me or I will come to them, the filth you protect." Robin quietly took his quiver from his back and silently laid his bow on the platform. He could kill Gisbourne with them now, but then... It dawned on him suddenly. He had spent so long protecting the band with trails and warning bird calls, hiding places and tree markings, watches and hunts….but the only real way to keep them safe, to be sure they would never come against the sheriff, was to be taken.

He had to face Gisbourne alone; he had to let the knight take him to Nottingham so that the sheriff would be satisfied and send no more bounty hunters. The sheriff would be content to let the woodland people live if he had Robin Hood. If he could take the man who had dared defy him, he would leave the followers to rot. The foresters would stop coming down so hard. Outlaws would be safe in Sherwood again. Robin did not want to be the sacrificial lamb, but it was his fault that Gisbourne was here. He couldn't be satisfied with simply surviving, could he? He had instead stupidly defied the sheriff, bishops, and lords – trying to rise above his own station like some idealist fed on minstrel song. And here was his punishment for it. He blew at his hair, trying so hard not to pity himself. Murderers were never meant to be happy.

"I know you hear me, beast of a man!" The knight's voice was echoing off the trees. "Come out now, coward! They say you know all the in the forest, that the very birds are loyal to you. Well what do the fowl tell you now? Haven't they told you _Gisbourne_ is come for your head?" _Nay, nay, nay.__ Good God, nay._ "Face me, filth, or I can promise you that there will be none left for you to lead!!!" So there was his answer. It was Gisbourne, and no matter what excuses he had made to Will, the only way to keep the camp safe was to be taken.

"Robin," Allan whispered, scaring the outlaw leader so that he had to bite his lip against a yelp. _Holy Saints._Recovering quickly, he turned to the minstrel with a thumping heart. "Good day, Allan," he whispered, "Now why are you here?"

"Nan came back to camp and mumbled something to Sara, that uncouth wench. And that Irish witch-woman demanded I come as a lookout, since you _claim_ that there is something suspicious in the forest this morning." He drew in a sudden sharp breath, and the pale face sank to an almost sickly shade. "Is that _Gisbourne_?"

Robin sighed and turned to the minstrel. Allan's soft hands, only recently even made halfway firm, fiddled absently with a Grecian curl that had fallen loose of his leather band. His blue eyes waited expectantly for answer, and no matter what the man had said, Robin pitied him. That stupid naive little sing-song had no bloody idea what to do against a man like Gisbourne. Jesus Christ, it would be lamb to the wolf. He grabbed Allan's fair curls in his own scarred hands, and thrust the minstrel through the tree into the High Road. _Run back to camp, Allan.__ Tell them I've gone mad. Tell them I've lost what was left of my mind. Tell them whatever you wish, but keep away from Gisbourne. _

And then he took to the branches, tracking Gisbourne through the deep wood with the stealth and speed of a hunting- hawk. The knight was heading for camp, though it was unlikely he realized that. The man seemed only to be in search of Robin Hood.

And by all Hell, he would find him.

Robin dropped from the tree, terror and pain all capturing him as Gisbourne's predatory eyes did._ Forgive me, Will. _And then he sneered. "Come now, sir knight, was it really necessary to bellow? " He arched a mocking eyebrow, arms crossed. "We Sherwood folk have far superior manners. Heavens, I would do well to teach you some." He drew his own sword elegantly, as if it were not a cruder and smaller blade than that of his adversary, and leaned mockingly against a nearby tree. "And you'll learn from the best, sir knight." He winked. "You'll learn from Robin Hood."

Gisbourne charged, sword free before Robin's eyes caught the motion. The outlaw quickly sheathed his sword and tore towards the High Road, praying that Allan had fled by now and was halfway to camp.

As they neared the road, he turned his head round to grin wickedly at his deadly adversary. _Angry men don't fight well. _The knight was a hand's length taller than himself, and he wasn't even half so thin. _If he doesn't lose his temper, I don't stand a chance in Hell. _He was quaking with fear, if only in his mind. _Oh, Lord, I don't stand a chance in Hell any way. _This man was someone to be feared, not taunted. And so what was he doing? Taunting him, of course. Typical addle-pated lackwit. But in the least he was facing the monster alone. If he died, if he was taken, if he bled to death – not another soul would die. He smiled, knowing that for once he had done his job. He knew they were safe.

And then he backed straight into the trembling Allan.

_Nay._He had been hoping to cut across the High Road without event. It would take Gisbourne even longer to find camp if he were on the wrong side of the road. But Allan had just made himself a bit of a roadblock.

"Run!" Robin screamed, shoving him viciously. "Run now, you fool!" The minstrel went to shake his head, trying so hard to be brave. Robin scowled at him. "Move now or---" He cried out as Gisbourne's sword sliced straight down his left side, leaving a red gash from chest to knee. _Holy Jesus._"I'll kill you," the knight hissed, drawing back his blade.

Allan froze in fear and horror as the knight's grin traveled from hunched Robin to land on him. The knight smirked and brought his sword forward. Allan gasped, backing up. He knew that he was going to be ill from the sight of Robin's blood on the sword. And then that nauseating weapon drew towards him and he knew that he was going to die.

"Get away from him!" Robin barked, whipping his futile sword across the knight's face, the only exposed part of the man's body. Vanity impugned, Gisbourne whirled around and began hacking furiously at the outlaw. _Well, there's one way to make him angry. _Something sharp made slicing contact with Robin's left arm and he swore. At this rate, he would be dead before he could---WHAM! The knight had taken full advantage of his opponent's pause and knocked him onto his back with a thrust of the pommel to his forehead.

Robin, who could feel his temple bleeding, felt ill with the swimming movements of his thoughts. Oh, saints, oh where am I? Oh what the---

Allan screamed as Gisbourne's sword hurtled towards his leader's head. "Robin! Robin!"

_Holy Mary._ Robin opened his eyes to find Gisbourne standing over him, sneering. Almost without thinking, he latched both hands around the knight's ankles and yanked hard. The confused Gisbourne could only watch angrily as his feet were yanked out from under him and he landed with a clank on his back.

"Run!" Robin cried again, scowling insistently at Allan as he released the fallen knight's ankles.

Praised be the saints, that fop finally found the strength to flee.

Robin limped with painful speed to his feet and grinned rakishly down at Gisbourne. "Ha! Awful manners AND slow?" He laughed mockingly and bowed obnoxiously low. "Come and catch me, Gisbourne!" With an insufferable salute, he darted further across the High Road, hearing the plod of heavy feet behind him. _Let your temper win over._ _Come along, you monster; let the bloody anger take you. _He whirled around to run backwards, still sneering despite the pain in his side. "So slow today, aren't we? The chase grows dull." He turned around, still moving, and sped up. A few more minutes and they'd be far enough away.

He heard the heavy tramp of Gisbourne's well-shod feet come closer behind him. Wincing from the Hell that was running, he let both eyes fall to his own bare and bleeding feet, and a branch tore the side of his face. _At least we're off the road now…_Hissing, he leapt onto the nearest tree branch and disappeared into the foliage. The knight appeared only a few moments later, panting from the exertion of a chase in chain mail. His sword was out, and the sight of it sent an actual bodily pain through Robin's heart. That weapon was made for slicing alone. His lean fingers went to the scars from Marian's sword. There was no wish to repeat that pain.

Gisbourne grinned wickedly. "Come now, outlaw, hiding are we?" He brandished his formidable sword again, and Robin gulped from his perch in the treetops. Slowly, he crept forward on the branch, own blade carefully sheathed. There was another limb from that nearby ash he could leap to, followed by a jump to the tallest bough in that birch, and then the lower perch on the oak beside that one—Robin smiled despite himself. He was a master of the forest, and he knew it.

"Why, Master Gisbourne! Still cannot find me, I see?" Robin swung onto the first branch of the ash and jumped onto the taller birch as he spoke. He was trying to calm down and play at Robin Hood, while the rational part of him wanted to dash across those trees with the speed he knew he could. "And you the best outlaw hunter in England! Pfft! I should like to see the worst!" He made it through two more trees as Gisbourne searched for the source of his voice. Where in creation were they? Were they far enough? He panted softly as he could, crouched in the greenery. Ach, it was an oak tree he hid in, dark scratches in a yew across the way, a broken rowan and three animal holes….

Ha! It was the Old Boar's Glade. Robin finally knew where they were when his fingers locked around the branch's white chalky marking. They were nearly thrice ten score rods from camp. Far enough to keep Will searching for a while. He fingered his old wounds again, wincing. God, he did not want to go down there. But he had to think of all the others in camp. If Gisbourne had him, he'd leave the camp alone. They would all be safe. A whimper of fear rose in his throat, but he locked a sweating hand round his cross. _Christ, give me courage. _He wished he had the cowardice in him to let Will face Gisbourne; he wanted the selfishness that would give Will's soul the murder that he was supposed to bear himself.

Then again, it could be a murder on_ Gisbourne's_ soul.

_Don't think about that. Who gives a damn if you die anyways?_ _That's right, you selfish fool – nobody._ Drawing his sword, he jumped down from the tree.

He felt the painful bite of the knight's sword as soon as he was on his feet. Adrenaline tore through his veins like water, breaking his courage's mountain into runny mud. Darting aside from the sweeping metal, he knew that fear had just been redefined. Not even a moment to recover and he was bleeding again. Gisbourne smirked and broke his defenses effortlessly. After landing a useless blow on the impenetrable chain mail, Robin limped backward and tried to protect himself with the sword. But Gisbourne laughed at his feeble attempts. _He laughed. _Robin was good, but Gisbourne was the best.

Sara brought one of her daggers to my throat and scowled at me. "Well, Lady Marian, it appears you told us the truth. Now what is Gisbourne's plan?" She was not in the mood for games, so I quickly answered the question. "Gisbourne has the foresters coming up the High Road to capture all of you, and Robin once he's been defeat-" Sara forced the gag back inside my mouth. "You'll tell us more later," she snapped, tying my bind back in place. "We've no time to waste now. Get Robin off the hunt and back in camp." She knew all about Robin's irritating insecurity complex, and the sacrifice that was bound to come. Will and John, busy skinning a deer, looked worriedly at one another. "He isn't back yet?" Will snapped, eyes in a panic.

Allan came rushing into the glade, his blonde hair for once as untidy as everyone else's. "Robin's gone!" he cried, "I tried to stop him and bring him back to camp, but he threw me out of the tree and I ran! I –I saw a knight! He attacked Robin and they – they're gone!"

Will's chest stopped moving and his eyes went wide. But did I care? The imbecile was full of wind, anyways. Oh, I wanted to scream at him!!! Will, you addle-pated lummox! You bloody lackwit! _I_ know where he's going! _You_ know where he's going! He's going as far away from camp with Gisbourne, you and I both know that!

"Did he head across the High Road?" Will asked, sheathing his sword and grabbing a staff. My ears were roaring as Allan's petite mouth formed the answer. Robin was going to die. He was going to be _murdered. _We had to stop Gisbourne….we had to do _something_!

While Will and Allan were babbling, Sara was motioning for those in camp to arm themselves. They moved themselves slowly but doggedly. She stared at the dwindling numbers and the haggard expressions of her warriors. "We need help," she said. Will looked over at her and his face twisted. There was no_ time_ for help. Robin was going to be gutted before they could get any aid, much less any _good_ aid.

"The peasants will help," Sara snapped suddenly, strapping on her belt of seven daggers. "David, come with me. You and I are going to Nottingham to gather some recruits." She did not wait for approval, but quickly kissed Will on the forehead. "I love you," she whispered. He nodded quickly and kissed her in return, but he was worried. She smiled at him. "Now don't go and blame yourself for Robin."

She turned to watch David struggling to gather some arrows. "Ach, that slow little fool," she muttered, but took advantage of the situation to feed Will some information. "I'll borrow Adam's cart. He has a fast horse, and it's only in the Middle Hawk's glade. I can ride and call on the coal miners; they love Robin to death, God bless them, and live nearest us. Besides which, they breed like rabbits." She winked. "We'll be back here soon as possible. _You _should go find Rob."

He nodded, locking her hand protectively in his. I had to admit that though I thought very little of him, Will looked so very sweet and loving when he was around Sara. She kissed him once more, this time on the lips. "Be careful, Will. And stop thinking this is your fault." He nodded dumbly and held her close to him, shutting his eyes. And seeing him like that, like he was going to break if he let go, sparked one of the only lights of pity I have ever felt for William of Norwell. "Saints, Sara, don't do anything stupid," he murmured, lips in her hair.

"I'm Irish,fear céile; it's in my blood. But I'll try."

Will smiled wryly, drawing back. He knew Sara was scared when she slipped into Gaelic. "We aren't married yet, dove. Don't call me husband so early; you'll give us bad luck."

Sara tilted her head to the side, love in her eyes as she looked up at him. She worked her fingers into his hair, smiling at him as if her were the most wonderful man in England. In my opinion, she was _much _too good for him. But she clearly thought differently, shaking her head fondly. "You eclipse my religion," she whispered, brushing the side of his face. And then suddenly she caught herself. "Ach! What in God's creation am I doing, love? You might as well call me Lucy, being such a fop when we've our own hides to save! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I'll see you when we've finished after all!" She paused only another moment, wishing he would agree to her lie. But only a sad smile. And so with one last quick kiss she was herself again, snapping for David to move his arse before she kicked it.

Will watched her hurrying out of camp for a few moments, as if she were a retreating into death and he would never see her again. He was clearly convinced that she was going into death, his face so drawn and low that his down-turned lips nearly parted, his shoulders brought slouching forward, every part of him needing to follow her because he saw no use in going to save a man he already thought dead. Oh, but there was a chance he could save him! He just had to move faster! Move faster, Will, you dumb lummox! Aye, you're going out of camp, but make those feet lighter! I sighed, remembering Will's sense of direction. Oh, every moment was so precious, and there was no time for him to debate over which turn to take! Lord, please send him to the High Road! If not for my sake, for Robin's! Good God, help Will find him!

It was lucky Gisbourne was such a slow killer, else I knew Robin would have been dead that very moment.

* * *

A/N: Yay! Another chapter down....and another cliffy-sort.....hehe. I'm evil, ain't I? And just a note::: the 5th commandment is "thou shalt not kill", for those who haven't been drilled on the commandments by Catholic nuns. haha. Just cuz Robin mentioned it, so I didn't want anybody to be staring blankly at the screen trying to recall what their boring CCD teacher said.lol  
Raise what's left of the flag for me. (Who else likes the band Flogging Molly?)  
Thanks for reading!!! You guys are the absolute best!!! (PEZ for everyone!!)


	26. Seelie Court and Sealing Fates

I'm sure you're all wondering why it took me more eons than usual that update, so I'll try to summarize in 3 main points:

(A) incompetent father ordering new computer

(B) incompetent father ordering we save all files from old computer on floppy disks for further use on new computer

(C) incompetent father neglecting to order floppy drive for new computer

And then fictionpress was being a pain and I couldn't get my beta-er's e-mail for this chapter because my old address book on Outlook was gone w/the new computer and…..bleugh. So apologies for the tardiness and un

But Flogging Molly's starting up their tour again! And I got their new CD!

And I won my heat (in my event - JV 600) at my last track meet!!!!

And I updated!

* * *

The Chief Forester lumbered through the well-trodden paths of Sherwood, flanked by the younger and less important foresters. It was time for him to get his final revenge on the Saxon whelps that had been plaguing the king's forest for so many months. He looked around him at his tall comrades, all bearing quivers on their strong backs and bows in their muscled hands. They were ready to rid themselves of the outlaw menace, even those who had sided with the bandits at first. At least that was what the Chief Forester hoped. If these men were traitors to the crown he would be the first they went after. For he'd been sure to make a good number of lives miserable, it was amusing, and there were quite a few young foresters out for some revenge.

Suddenly, over a score of rag-tag ruffians dropped from the trees like tattered crows.

Outlaws.

Nearly in unison, each outlaw shot a slender fist upwards from the once-green rags that cloaked it. Half-bare arms stood stark in the scarce light of Nottingham High Road, clenching staves in stupid defiance. Beneath their hoods, they smirked at one another, knowing that intimidation tactic had taken full force. No play group could put on quite the show that Sherwood's outlaws did. Behind them came the coal miners and peasants, their dirt-lined fingers gripping table legs and hoisting heavy stew pots overhead. They hardly knew enough to put on a show, but they were frightening in themselves - a fierce, starved loyalty blazing from behind their hollow eyes.

And at the head of it all stood a dark-haired woman. The sleeves of a scarlet tunic hung from her thin arms, making it obvious that the dress below it was hers, and the tunic belonged to someone else. She grinned wickedly, dark hair held back from her pale Celtic face. Later one of the foresters would remark that she looked like a witch. Devilish grin twisting her, she dropped both wrists to a belt holding five more sharp knives. "Why, a good day to you, my foresters! Where do you think you're off to this day?" She arched a single thick eyebrow as Sherwood's archers stepped behind their infantry. "Eh, my buckos? The sheriff remove your tongues for you, did he?"

The Chief Forester finally managed to catch his wits, which had dropped out of his mouth in the initial gasp of surprise. "We come to take Robin Hood and his bandits, filthy Irishwoman! You and your peasants shall remove yourselves from this path this instant!"

The dark-haired woman brought her dagger forward, eyebrow arched. "I am Sara of the Beltaine Moon, lady outlaw of Robin Hood's Seelie Court, and I move for no mortal man." David rolled his eyes beneath his hood; Sara loved playing with people's superstitions a bit too much.

A foolhardy young forester lunged towards her, sword drawn. She flicked her wrist once, sending her dagger into his weapon arm with deadly precision. The man staggered backwards in shock, clutching at his arm. Three of the other foresters immediately grouped around him protectively, watching Sara worriedly. They hadn't seen her wince.

Catching their looks, she grinned wickedly. "And you thought Robin Hood was good," she sneered, flipping another dagger from her belt, watching lazily as it spun in the air to land hilt-down between her deft fingers. _You heart isn't racing quickly, woman. These men do not scare you. Look at that one on the left; he's thinner than David. This is nothing to fear. It's only…it's only…swords against staves? Lord, we are in too deep a pit now._

The peasants and outlaws came closer behind her, gripping both chair legs and staves with equal ferocity. "Kill only if you must," she reminded under her breath. They were in trouble; she wouldn't deny that. Their only advantage was a mediocre knowledge of the woods…and the coming element on surprise.

She twirled her dagger once more and caught it effortlessly, trapping the foresters in its light. _Jesus Christ, this had best work_. Her head snapped round viciously, and she met eyes with the Chief Forester.  
"Get the hell out of our forest."

* * *

The outlaws had scattered. Camp was deserted. The children and the ill were taken to Tuck's River by the friar of that name.

And I was tied to an oak.

I struggled with the coarse ropes binding my wrists, but my useless fingernails failed to free me once again. I tried wiggling my wrists, but they were too clever to bind me so loosely. I was stuck in place and none of them knew where Robin had gone. I kicked the tree stubbornly in irritation.

And something loosened.

Of course, not those ropes locking my wrists together; that would be much too kind of Fate; but those binding my locked wrists to the tree began to give way. I smirked wickedly and kicked the trunk three times more. I was nearly free. I finally yanked my bound hands away from the tree, cord dangling from the bonds on my wrists.  
After that it was simple matter. I quickly slipped my legs between my joined arms, and now my bonds were in front of me instead of behind me. Grinning, I worked at the knot with my fingernails and teeth. In a matter of minutes I had them figured out. God bless David and his simple knots. I threw the cord to the ground and stood up, blinking at the empty camp. Everyone had cleared out quickly, some running to hide the children near the waterfall, others taking the elderly by the river bend. And the rest…off to fight the foresters.

I latched onto the oak slab that John had jammed into the cave entrance and flung it vengefully to the ground. I needed a blooming sword. The storage cave was damp with moss, and the wet air smelt strongly of tanned leather. I wrinkled my nose in the dark damp, eyeing the hides that various outlaws had scattered along the cave floor. When not in use, their wooden bows were wrapped in the hides to keep them from rotting, but in the rush for self-defense, bows had been stripped of their cloaks. The barrels of spare hunting arrows had been torn open and hastily emptied, split shafts and scattered barbs strewn about. I ran to the far corner and ripped a light blade from the neglected pile of rusting metal. Robin had no great love for swords, the nobleman's weapon, and he only took them from nobles to keep them out of peasant hearts. I stared curiously at my weapon of choice - slightly rusted on the left side, but at least it was solid in the hilt.

I sprinted for the High Road. Allan had said he crossed the High Road, hadn't he? And he had said - I looked frantically around me. Good Lord, where did he go? There had to be some sign of passage - Heavens, Rob, don't tell me you used your talent when it could turn against you. Nay, nay, nay.

A muffled battle sounded some ways down the road, cries and curses trailing down the road like the smell of burnt wood. I gulped back guilt, thinking of the outlaws fighting the foresters. But they had each other and Robin was alone somewhere in the woods, staring down Gisbourne.

I shut my eyes and whispered a soft prayer. _Ave Maria, gratia plena._ My eyes shot open, and I smirked. There across the road, in clear view, was a path in the greenery - recently chopped by something. And last time I'd check, arrows did NOT make slices like that.

Gisbourne knew bloody well how to leave a trail; I'd give the flaming dung pile that much credit. There wasn't a single twig or mushroom that the man hadn't tried to crush or kill. But his enthusiasm obviously wore out a few rods into the woods, because the hacking, tearing wreckage of before suddenly dropped into quick footprints and tousled leaves.

Oh, Heaven's Own. I knelt down and stared at the two different paths before me. Who left them? Gisbourne? Or some forester? I scrabbled frantically in the earth, eyes darting between each trail. Gisbourne's feet would be heavier, wouldn't they? Oh, but he was running and the forester was probably just walking along on patrol, so mayhap the heavier ones belong to the forester. But what if the forester were running after an outlaw? What if he were running after Robin? What if I followed Gisbourne and it was the wrong path and meanwhile the forester was---

A short cry of pain sounded ahead of me. Robin. I dashed forward, breathless and praying to the saints, until the sound of swords clashing was loud enough for me to hear. Oh, let him live. Let Gisbourne's sadism hold out. Please let him breathe.

Oh, he was breathing, aye; I could hear it from here.

They were fighting in a glade often used by the deer for grazing, but now it was a battlefield of men. The ground was an odd brown color, that of dried blood, and the usually tall grass was lying limp under pacing feet. Robin was gasping beneath his snarl, and I could see full well that Gisbourne had struck him more than once. The knight was driving him around the clearing, forcing him backwards and then retreating to bring him forward. He was playing with him; wearing him out with all the movement. I grit my teeth. Flaming whoreson.

Gisbourne's mail was stained with blood, but it was not his own. And he was laughing beneath that disfiguring Norman helm. Robin held up his sword in a perfectly stable parry, but Gisbourne sliced effortlessly through it. "And you – you are the plague our sheriff does complain of?" he sneered, advancing. Robin aimed for the man's face, and the two of them locked hilts as Gisbourne parried. "A fine blade you have," Gisbourne sneered, and I suddenly caught the sarcasm.

Bloody Hell.

God love Robin for his kindness, but this was one time it worked against him. Devon the blacksmith could hardly make a decent sword with one hand, but he wanted desperately to be useful, and so Robin had let him make swords that it seemed no one would ever use. But even a man with two hands cannot weld a metal blade to a wooden hilt very well; I doubt you're even supposed to make swords that way. I shut my eyes. The left-handed gap between metal and oak had not come against Robin until now. But Gisbourne was ruthless, and if he could not kill through weakness in the man, he'd find weakness in the weapon.

Snap.

Gisbourne had snaked his own metal pommel between the blade and hilt of Robin's sword. The weak welding of a cripple broke under the pressure of his weapon's handle. Robin's eyes went wide as they looked up at Gisbourne's triumphant gaze. I grit my teeth. The knight's grin was so obnoxious; so broad and mocking. My hand went to my hilt and I stood. If he even tried to---

Holy Heaven. My hand darted forward uselessly as Gisbourne's sword tore towards Robin.

No shield.

No chain mail.

No chance.

Gisbourne plunged the sword deep into Robins' shoulder. Oh, Lord, sweet Lord. Oh, please tell me it hadn't --- I breathed a quiet prayer of thanks. Gisbourne had not sent it full through him. Not yet. There was chance of life; thank the skies there was. So why was Robin's face so bloody calm?

For a moment, it really seemed as if nothing had happened, and even Gisbourne seemed to wonder if he'd missed as he drew his blade back. Even as Robin hit his knees we wondered if he could be hurt with such impassive bravery on his shuddering face. But then he gasped against the urge to sob, sword hand quaking with what little fight he had left. Gisbourne's wicked smirk lit him as he grabbed Robin's chin and brought it close to his. "That wound, outlaw? That is for daring to raise your arm against me." He peered disdainfully at Robin's fingers, which still stubbornly clenched the useless hilt. "Oh, that IS sad." He dug his hand into Robin's, seeking out the hilt, and flung the crude thing across the clearing. With one last sneer, he brought his own elegant blade high above my outlaw's head.

* * *

A/N: I know I'm an evil person to leave another cliffhanger, but I promise to update much sooner cuz we won't be getting any new computers any time soon. 


	27. Daggers and Knights and Fainting oh my!

A/N: Remember when I said I'd update quickly? I lied. Yeah, I know. I'm a bad kid. Sorry!

Thanks again to Eh, Man for her beta magic on this! The first part was a beast to edit, I know. It was a combo of two different things and it barely made sense. So yay for my favorite beta-er!

And thank you guys ssssoooooo much for staying with this story! I have the best reviewers on fanfiction - don't let anyone say differently! ;-)

* * *

Sara swore and brought her dagger downward with a vicious thrust onto a forester. The hilt seemed to fit perfectly in the soft spot at the back of his neck, knocking him senseless as if that were its purpose. She grinned with satisfaction at the wreckage that she and the peasants had been able to accomplish. The foresters had not been prepared for the dozens of arrows that had spilled from the trees; they had been shocked near to fainting at the nets and holes built along the road. The green-clad fools had been utterly unprepared for the fiery rebellion they found in 'simple forest folk'.

And the 'simple' folk had finished off Nottingham's woodland warriors. The Chief Forester had seriously underestimated his enemy and was paying for it dearly. But although the victory gave Sara a light feeling in her chest, one worry was constantly bearing down on her. The outlaws had defeated the worst fighters, because those were all the Chief Forester had brought along, but what in Hell were they going to do when the great swordsmen show up? If the elite foresters came, she knew the outlaws were finished. _Holy Mary, keep those brutes away from me and I swear I'll never lose my temper again. I'll be forgiving and hold my tongue and---_

"SARA!" David's high-pitched cry broke across the road, and the Irishwoman turned quickly to see the cause of his fear.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

Cornelius White Foot, Boarsman Stone, Cur Roger, Devon Silvertip – Nottingham's finest swordsmen were all coming down the High Road, their blades unsheathed. She did not even bother trying to stop the weaker peasants from fleeing. They could not best these men. Cornelius alone was rumored to be able to take three men at once; Devon had supposedly once taken five. Not for the first time, Sara wished she had Will with her. But he was out looking for Robin, and she was going to die without him.

Slan go foill, Will. Goodbye for now, but we'll both roast in Hell together, won't we?

Standing stubbornly before the best blades in the shire, she held her two daggers in cross-guard. "Come on then," she cried, "Come on then, you cowards!" She was scared witless, knowing that only a fool does not fear death, but she would die a brave Irishwoman despite it. A whimper rose for a moment in her quivering throat, but she would not let it take her. David smiled weakly at her; what in God's name was he doing here? He couldn't fight these men; he could barely fight Allan. And why were some of the coal miners still standing in the road as if they could last half a minute against these men? And Ellie? Ellie had a spear in her hands and was staring down their new opponents, trying to resist the urge that they all had to hide behind the immense John and his quarterstaff. _There can't be more than ten of us that can fight, though over a score of us are here. _She almost laughed at their predicament. _Wouldn't it be odd if Robin was the only one of us lot to survive? Wouldn't it be the oddest thing if he could best Gisbourne? _But that would never happen. They were all going to die. Except Will. She knew Robin would be dead by the time his cousin found him, but she still held out a hope that --- well, it was foolish. She had already seen Will for the last time. The last face that she would see would be that of a leering forester drawing his sword from her.

In the least she could spit on the bastard.

She charged at Cornelius, opening the fight. There was a moment when her brain told the rest of her she was the most fantastic idiot ever conceived, but then there was an incredible rush as the others joined her, and her anger suffocated her common sense.

Cornelius arched a sneering eyebrow at her, but _condescended _to face her. With the old war cry of her clan she went for his heart and throat doubly, hoping desperately that her dagger would strike either for a fatal wound. He parried her almost lazily and then knocked one of the daggers from her hand. She whipped another out from the belt around her waist, but he was quicker than even her fingers. His sword cut across her arm in an arc and swept under her armpit as if to cut off her arm. She brought her arm above the blade's reach and then ducked into a crouch, but he kept advancing. With a hissed curse she swung out a leg to trip her assailant, but his sword came down into her knee. She screamed with the pain, though the healer's mind thanked Heaven's stars that it was not her kneecap he had cut. But holy saints, it hurt. Cornelius grinned, satisfied with her inability to escape. She snarled and drove a dagger through his thigh with her right hand, tearing another from her belt with her left. But Creation curse him, he saw the left-handed attack coming and ripped the sword from her knee to send another attack against her. _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. _Sara rolled her torso away from danger and plunged her weapon into the side of that same thigh she had struck before. Oh, it was sweet to strike the monster, but it was a short-lived sugar. He took aim with the blade again in response, and she was forced to twist away once more. _If only I could move the dead weight of this knee and stand. _But suddenly there was his foot on her chest, pinning the only mobile part of her to the ground.

Cornelius's sword rushed downward at her again and she glared at the demon for all she was worth. "Diabhoil," she hissed, praying to all the saints of Ireland that the Gaelic would frighten him. It seemed to, for he paused, his eyes wide with fear and distrust.

And that moment was all she needed. Someone from above hurtled the diabhoil out of the way, grunting. "Sara? Sara?" Familiar dark hair blocked the edge of her vision. "Sara, I swear I'll rip his head off…just tell me you're alive. Tell me you won't die!"

She smiled in relief at her savior, the pain in her knee eclipsed like the rest of the world. "Will, you arse, you've taken my honor now."

He grinned wildly at her. Oh Lord, she was safe. He'd been crossing the High Road…he couldn't find Robin…and he'd seen her there at the mercy of Cornelius. And the guilty thoughts at the back of his mind said it could have cost Robin's life, but if he hadn't stopped he might have lost them both. Drawing back, he winced in sympathy. "Your leg; we have to get you out of here; come and help me look for Rob…I…"

"Hush, you great lummox, and help me stand before Cornelius takes your head. You've only got one; I have two knees." She smirked and tightened her grip on his arm. "I believe they've noticed you're here." Will blinked at her and then turned to survey the crowd of fighters around them. Everyone had frozen at the sight of Will, and the sword-playing foresters were whispering to one another, some eyes wide with fear.

"It's William of Norwell; I'd recognize him anywhere."

"Isn't that the man who almost beat Gisbourne?"

"He's the best swordsman in lower England."

"He's taken on an entire army by himself, I've heard."

Will arched an eyebrow at Sara and she shrugged. "Ach, so I exaggerate your skill in the taverns," she whispered, "but only a wee bit."

"I-I have to find Rob, Sara. I'd help but--"

Suddenly David yelped, clutching at his arm. Boarsman Stone grabbed the arm and made a move as if to cut the outlaw's hand off.

And all was chaos again.

Ellie took her spear and hurled it at Boarsman's head from behind, a protective rage in her eyes. The weapon landed in his shoulder, and he roared in fury. With a snarl he turned around and sliced her across the face and neck, advancing forward all the time. In fear, the poor girl staggered backwards and fell on her tailbone. Her eyes went wide as he grabbed the front of her dress and brought her face to his. His breath smelt of ale and meat, and his sword tip bit into her stomach. She wondered if anyone would be left to bury her…she wondered how it would have felt if she had lived to kiss David…

David ran from the side and shoved Boarsman to the ground. The collision not only slammed the forester onto his ribs, but also brought the accelerating David to his knees. Boarsman turned his head to scowl at the persistent little wood-chopper. Why wasn't he running? And his little wench, too – she had no idea what sort of mire she and her friends had sunk their legs into. Stubborn snotty paupers getting out of line – that was what this was. He'd seen it before, outlaws with high ideas, but this group topped them all. They thought themselves quite condescending, didn't they? Leaving their earlier attackers alive and donating stolen goods to the poor. They were nothing though! Nothing! The fools had no skill, no strength, no organization – yet here they were, fighting and nearly besting Nottingham's foresters. Why were they fighting? Their leader was surely dead by now; they had very nearly entered open warfare with the sheriff; they were _lost. _The stupid ignorant mules! They deserved to rot. The forester looked up from his position, eyes brimming with irritation.

And there was that moron from Norwell, pinning Cornelius White Foot to the tree. "Well?" the nobleman snapped, "Where is Robin?"

And Boarsman had finally had enough of the outlaws.

"Dead!" he roared, attracting Norwell's attention. "We've already gutted your leader." Norwell dropped Cornelius, and the Celtic-looking woman beside him clutched at the cross round her neck. Even the other foresters stopped; this was news to them. Boarsman smirked. "Aye, we killed the outlaw dog," he sneered, "That is, once Gisbourne was done with him. You should have heard the coward squeal for his life." He smirked at the great lot of green fools before him. That ought to result in a very neat surrender.

Sara dug her nails into her cross. Oh, dear God. She turned her stricken face to Will, and waited for him to despair. But he was trembling. The rage began in his fists, trembling fingers twitching around the hilt of his sword, but it quickly spread to his clenched jaw and ricocheted towards his eyes. The fury had struck him so unaware, the shock rushing through him like bold electricity. Sara watched it all with both relief and pity.

"Cowards!" he roared, his furious voice tearing like lightning through the air and lingering like thunder. Even Sara jumped at the sound of it. "You cruel, hell-bound cowards!" He started towards Boarsman, hefting the sword into both of his hands and bringing it upward. "Could he even stand when you killed him, you whoresons?"

Sara looked out at their opposition. Oh, what an unexpected demon you just brought down.

Boarsman Stone quickly stumbled to his feet and dove at Will with his blade, but it was…well, futile. Will was thought of as the best swordsman in lower England, and Sara hadn't seen him this furious since a forester had tried to get under her skirts. She watched with grim satisfaction as Will parried effortlessly and then blasted through the other man's defense to plunge into his leg. The forester cried out in pain, cringing out of his assailant's path.

"Anyone else?" Will sneered vengefully, eyes dark with hatred. _I could kill them all. _He mercifully let Boarsman continue his retreat. _I bloody well SHOULD kill every single black-hearted one of them. _He choked on something in his throat. _O, brilliant, fool. Cry later, for Christ's sake. Do you want to lose Sara, then? Want the cowards to take the only person left, eh?_

Over his dead body.

Nay, nay. Over _their _dead bodies. They had nearly maimed Sara and killed his cousin and he would murder them for it. He would slaughter them like the pigs they were. Oh, God…but his stupid cousin, his stupid forgiving _dead _cousin would never want anyone killed. He shut his eyes against the rage in him, trying to calm himself.

_Don't kill; don't kill; don't kill. _Why in Hell not? His eyelids burst open, unable to contain the rage that was suddenly such a part of him. Why should he listen to Robin? Why should he show mercy? Where on God's green earth had that ever gotten anyone? Dead. That was where. Dead. Dead. Bloody well dead. Why shouldn't he kill them? Why in all bloody Heaven shouldn't he kill them when they had killed Robin? He was becoming more and more convinced that there were two types of people in the world – those going to Heaven and those who had to defend them. And he had long ago accepted he was going to Hell anyways, so he should defend Robin, who was damn well going to Heav – Oh, saints. Those bastards had killed him before he had confessed that murder. They had sent him straight to Hell – dead with a mortal sin on his soul. Will's fist tightened around the pommel of his sword. And when these whoresons were doing slaughtering children in camp, they would head off and be absolved for merciless killing. But they had sent Robin to Hell over self-defense! Why should they have a chance to confess their sins with Robin didn't? Why did they get another chance when they had already stolen one? Why in God's name did they have life when his cousin didn't? Well, they wouldn't have it for long; he was going to send them straight to the Hell they deserved. "Leave us be, you whoresons, or I'll kill you all! Run now and I'll spare your worthless lives!"

Cur Roger paused, thinking of the family that needed him. And he thought of William of Norwell's reputation. Some men would have called his actions cowardice, but he would leave no more widows and orphans on the Earth than he had to. Quietly he turned into the trees, dragging Devon Silvertip, father of nine, with him. They would head home along the forester's trails. Cowardly, mayhap, but your life isn't yours to throw away once it means something to ten others.

Sara watched Will charge at Cornelius. Having Will there had given the others spirit, and they took up the attack again. _God help the foresters._

Then she looked down at her knee and thought of what they could do to everyone else.

_God help us. _

* * *

"I surrender!" Robin screamed, hand shooting upward as if to defend himself. What? Robin was no coward; I knew that. He was not craven enough to beg for his own life. Gisbourne arched a single eyebrow. "You coward," he snapped, pressing the point of his sword against Robin's throat. "Do you wish for your own life, then?" Robin nodded fervently. "Oh, aye; please, milord," he gasped in a servile voice. He really sounded in earnest; his face twisted with fear, and every breath brought a shudder of pain.

And Gisbourne laughed.

"Nay, nay," the knight corrected, obviously enjoying this "You know damn well what awaits you in Nottingham. Despite the fool I know you to be, it isn't possible you've so little memory. It is for another reason you do this." He smirked, cocking his head. "Mayhap to save the others?" His mocking voice rang out across the clearing. "You sacrifice yourself for their sake." He sneered at the shock on Robin's face, sarcasm dripping like venom from his voice. "Oh, how noble. It's a waste; foresters are coming for the louts, but I shall have to tell them before I send them to meet you." He brought the sword high and sent it plunging downwards.

I screamed and ran at Gisbourne. Almost instinctively he darted to the side and my swinging sword barely grazed his chest. But even as I watched my own blade strike him uselessly I saw the sweeping arch of metal coming towards my neck. I jerked to the side and readied a parry.

But Gisbourne just stood frozen.

I don't know who was more surprised - Robin or Gisbourne. The outlaw was paler, but I think that was from loss of blood. Gisbourne gasped. "Lady Marian?" he cried, ramming his sword quickly into Robin's chest, letting the blade sink in slightly. I held up my own sword, fighting the gnawing pain in my side. "Come now, Gisbourne. Why should you be so ashamed of fighting me?"

He arched a scornful eyebrow, malicious amusement in his eyes. "And why should you be fighting me at all? We both want the same thing - to get this outlaw out of the sheriff's way. Or," he continued, sneering at Robin, "to be more precise, in his dungeons."

Robin spit in his face. "Go fight the maid – mayhap you can beat her honestly!"

Gisbourne threw him to the ground with frightening ease. "Pathetic," he replied, pressing his sword tip into the small of Robin's neck. "Reach for your dagger, louse, and I'll send this straight through you." Then he turned to me, smirking. "As you can see, I have this stripling under control. So why not let me take the little rebel, milady?"

I growled, "Nay."

"What?" He blinked once or twice. "Ah, I see. He's your dog to beat, non?"

"Leave him be. The only dog here is you, Gisbourne."

Gisbourne paused, unsure of what I meant. "Do you mean to fight _me_?"

"You are a knight, non?"

He caught my mockery and the deadly hatred behind it. "Very well. I suppose I mus-" He swore in shock and turned back to Robin, whose quaking hand held the naked blade of his broken sword. The outlaw, lying on his stomach, smirked shakily at his handiwork. The blade was deep into Gisbourne's leg, nearly a crippling wound. In his arrogance, Gisbourne had worn only a mail shirt, leaving his legs as well-protected as a farmer's.

With a gasp, Robin spat at his adversary: "Welcome to Sherwood."

Gisbourne punted him ferociously in the head, and I winced when his neck snapped backwards. Both eyes shut, and he did not stir. Gisbourne gave him another hard boot in the ear to be sure he'd fainted, and then turned to me. "Whichever of us is left alive," he snapped, "Wins this wretch."

"I will win."

He arched a skeptical eyebrow and wrenched the sword from his leg with little but a wince. As he lobbed it carelessly across the clearing, I readied myself for his attack. Go ahead, Gisbourne. I'll kill you, I swear it.

And we went at it. I could feel my own confidence with the sword, and the rage that I knew drove Will to greatness with swordplay. I could feel Gisbourne's almost lazy self-assurance when we locked hilts; he knew he was the best, but he couldn't shake my grip. Mayhap I couldn't best him, _likely_ I couldn't, but I would not let him _shake_ me. Stab me…he could do that. Meeting his vicious eyes and remembering what he had done to Robin, I forced my weight against him, driving at his hilt with my own. _Die. Die._ I was fighting harder than…oh, Lord, than I'd ever wanted to, but Gisbourne was good. Good Lord, he was so blasted good.

He broke my defenses so many times. He did; Holy Mother, he did; and I was sliced again and again. I cried out with the pain of each one; it hurt so much, those light scratches. He would sneer at me and retreat, as if he had _allowed_ me to come away with such a little wound. He expected me to flee after my first taste of steel in the belly; I forced myself to stay. But they hurt.

And the big scratch hurt even more.

I yelped with the sharp pain and my whole lower body went numb. For a trice, my middle was floating off somewhere in limbo. And then it came jerking back to my awareness, stinging and wrenching and twisting. My knees went weak with the anguish and I tipped backwards to crumple in a heap. I curled and broke into a sweat all at once. _Come now, come now. Get UP. _But my body refused me, and I didn't have the strength to fight it. I'd always thought I was brave and strong, but cold winters and wrestling Richard were nothing to this.

Gisbourne stood over me, smirking. "Seeing as you're a lady, I won't leave you in agony."

I looked over to Robin's prone body, too weak to try and escape my fate.

And he wasn't there.

With a cry of either pain or rage, he tackled Gisbourne to the ground. The two of them wrestled furiously on the earth, grunting and cursing. I could only watch them through a filmy haze as I struggled for consciousness. Robin's legs were flailing and Gisbourne's arms were locked around his neck. I watched them in a daze of shock and pain. Gisbourne should have finished with Robin by now, but Robin's survival instinct was kicking in…or rather, lashing out.

With a ferocious kick, Gisbourne sent Robin rolling across the clearing. In an instant, his knightly training took full force and he had grabbed his sword, leapt to his feet, and sent the deadly weapon for Robin's heart.

In one last act of desperation, Robin dove for the blade that had recently been snapped from his hands. Face down in the dirt, he sensed Gisbourne's sword coming for his head and he twisted round to position himself on his knee. Both of them attacked at the same time; Gisbourne's sword digging into Robin's thigh as the outlaw shifted position, Robin's broken blade locked between the knight's eyes.

Gisbourne staggered backwards, the first to move away. I looked away as he struggled for his last two or three breaths, not wanting to see the look on his face. There was a thud and a rustle of slick grass, and I knew it was over.

Robin collapsed onto his side, clinging to life with every wheezing breath. I crawled over to him, not daring to look at the dead body to my side. "Marian…" His voice was scratching and it hurt my ears. "What the hell are you doing?"

None of the birds for a few miles were making a sound. Every animal in the area was absolutely silent.

I stared at him for a few moments. What in Hell _was _I doing?

"You're bleeding," he continued softly, blinking with surprise. I peered at myself, as if noticing it for the first time as well. "Aye."

"Mari, I'm sorry." He stared at the wound for a moment. "That must hurt."

I drew a shuddering laugh and dropped down beside him. "Aye."

Suddenly, he swore violently in Latin and then smirked apologetically at me. "If you – _holy Saint Loy _– if you crouch it hurts less," he offered. I smiled gratefully and curled into fetal position. It did feel better for a few moments, but then another pain went spitting from my shoulders down. "Eugh."

"We're pathetic," he whispered, and his eyes clamped shut as agony wracked him. In a spasm of pain, he reached for my hand. I locked fingers with him and squeezed hard. The fiery broken feel in my knuckles seemed to cancel the wound in my side.

"The others," I warned suddenly, "They're fighting the foresters on the High Road." Robin looked over at me, breathing heavily. I figure I must have seemed to be a deer or rowan tree, because he looked ready to faint. Not that he would allow himself to.

"Eh, suppose we'll have to--" He hissed for a moment, biting at his lower lip. "--have to go help them, eh?" he gasped, leaning against a tree to help him sit up. "And we – we shouldn't just sit here all day. I just – just a trice, Mari, just a --" He closed his eyes and slumped against the trunk, wheezing. It soon turned into a cough and my head spun from the noise. The world was doing cartwheels up and down my nose bridge - or maybe it was left and right? I staggered to my knees, trying to escape that awful racket. What was he doing? Why was his nose close to the tree? And why did my head hurt so badly?

Suddenly, he slumped to the ground, knocking his head against the trunk with a sickening crack. He'd fainted. Flat-out swooned. I knelt down, wincing, and shook him. He didn't move. I grabbed him frantically and rocked his head back and forth so quickly I swear his brains hit the side of his head. At least he was still breathing. But all I could see were the snapped-shut eyes and stony pale of his face. He screamed of death.

I felt tears pooling in my eyes. "Open your eyes," I sobbed, voice a moaning wreck. Stubborn bastard. He just lay there like some useless rotten log and wheezing like a crone near her grave.

I whimpered and groped blindly for the sword in his thigh. It was like ice in my shivering fingers, and the cool hilt felt awkward in my sweaty grip. I tore the awful weapon out of the wound and threw it down beside him. But the only response I got was a brief twitching of his limbs and heavier wheezing. I screeched and swore a French obscenity at his wan face. Open your eyes! Open your God-forsaken, Devil-sent, cursed ---

"Marian."

I whirled around like a cornered boar to see a very confused John staring awkwardly from the edge of the clearing. I hissed loudly from the ferocious pain in my side, and his eyes went wide. Will swore from behind him. "It's not bloody Marian, John, you clod. That heathen she-demon is probably dancing with the Devil on--"

His face froze, the black scowl iced over with smooth relief. His mouth slipped open a pinch, and the corners of his slack lips were tilted upward. "Whoring midwives, he's alive." The grateful whisper kept him calm for a few moments as he watched the rise and fall of Robin's chest like a knight would watch the Grail.

And then he remembered me. "And you were trying to kill him, you wench." Fear shot through my veins and broke my vision. I grappled for sight as the shadows encircled the scene, framing Will with their growing fingers. The grey claws grew, coiling about my throat, mobbing the glade and swarming over the approaching Will. The shadows grappled for control of everything, multiplying and growing. I couldn't breathe; I couldn't even move. All I saw was grey. And the ugly mass exploded, scattering neon colors everywhere, so bright I became nauseous.

And then came the black.


	28. I can't Think of a Title Now

A/N: Guess who updated almost-sort of-not really quickly? I did! I know you're all very proud of me. (Not really, but I can delude myself. lol) And I know that I should be typing up some reviewer responses, but I'm too lazy right now,and my aunt just had a baby (by C-section. ouch) so I want to go visit. So next chapter; I promise.

And, as always, a bajillion pounds of thanks to my beta-buddy -Eh, Man - for saving me from both my obsession with the word "and" and my unique ability to totally forget about nouns and/or subjects of sentences. -

Enjoy!

and. and. and.

* * *

"Will, you look much too happy to have been doing anything Christian," Sara observed, wrapping a quick poultice round Marian's arm. The lady of Whitby was senseless on her back, but Robin was awake and leaning against a nearby tree. Robin and John were tearing a wool blanket into shreds for bandages, occasionally managing a few hand motions or clipped words.

"Shut your ale barrel, Sara," Will replied. "I was just out scouting for foresters. But how is your knee?" He smiled affectionately, putting his hand in Sara's hair. She looked up at him and shrugged. "It isn't festering. And it looks a wee bit like Major Oak, the wound does." She grinned rakishly and brazenly pulled up her dress to show him the mark. "See?"

"Ah! My eyes!" Robin cried, mockingly shielding himself from the sight of her legs. John mimicked vomiting, and the both of them laughed merrily.

"Well then! Salt in your poultices, Rob!" Sara returned, "and mayhap nettles, eh?"

"By nettles do you mean what your hair is made of?"

"More likely your nose! Sharp enough, isn't it?"

"Leave each other be," Will finally intervened, smiling despite himself. Robin was recovering remarkably, though his unusual buoyancy might have been the effect of that green mush Sara had forced down his throat. "Come now, my Sara, the wench will survive. But you ought to take care of yourself." He swept her into his arms to carry her across camp. She punched his chest good-naturedly and swore at him for treating her like a weakling, but she finally let him carry her.

The two of them lay down beneath a rowan, Will's arm round Sara's shoulders. He was struggling to clean and bandage her wound, listening patiently at she gave him corrections and laughing when she slapped his hand. They kept their faces close, snapping light insults and mumbling satire about the outlaws who passed them.

"How's Rob?" Will asked casually, fiddling with a strand of her hair.

Sara shrugged, feeling guilty for her lies. "He – well, he is doing well enough. I'm sure he will live." She kept her eyes on her newly bandaged knee, pretending to inspect the workmanship.

Will smiled, a relieved excitement spreading across his features. "Really? He's going to live? I mean, he looks well enough, but you can never know with Rob."

Guilty eyes drifting over to her patient, Sara answered with her lie again: "Oh, aye."

And seeing the joy on Will's face when she said that made the shame worth it. He kissed her forehead. "Holy Mother, my Sara," he said, "You are the most talented woman in England. The angel of Death doesn't stand a bloody chance" She nodded, forcing a smile onto her face.

But then she looked over at Robin, his breathing so much like a death rattle she couldn't tell if he were dying or not. His face was pale and the new wounds were bright against the rest of him. He smiled and he laughed and he teased, but he wasn't fooling her in the least. And she couldn't leave him for himself in Sherwood; she couldn't believe that her rosaries would be enough to keep him alive.

"Will." Sara put her hand on his arm suddenly, and he popped two concerned eyebrows. "Aye, Sara?"

"We have to move."

"What do you mean?"

"You've heard the reports coming in from Nottingham. There are foresters coming in full force. Nottingham's calling them in from the king's other forests, and they will tear Sherwood apart. We'll all be moving around like scattered sparrows in the next few sennights – and we'll be separated. Robin can't run like that – not as he is. He – he needs warmth… rest. And a few poultices. And better bandages than torn wool half made of dirt. And --- we have to ask Sir Richard again."

A little voice came from behind their tree. "Sir en't at home."

Will turned around to see who had spoken, and saw Jack standing behind him, quiet fear in his face. The boy smiled nervously, hunching his shoulders. "What do you mean?" Will asked.

Jack turned his head away. "Jennie – Jennie the tavern girl; she said he's gone. Says it was a big rushing and he then he was up and away."

"Holy Lord!" Will threw his hands up in frustration, and Jack cringed as if he would be hit. Will sighed and dropped his arms. "You fool, I'm not going to hit you."

"Aye." But Jack still kept his distance, as he did with everyone.

Will ground his back teeth in thought, staring angrily off at the woods. Had the bloody cosmos really taken that much of their energy to destroy Robin? They had to move; the foresters would be swarming them in a few hours, and they needed to go somewhere. He blew air out of his mouth, still royally furious. "And I suppose _young_ Richard is in charge?" he snapped.

From behind Nan's skirts, Jack managed to peep out "Aye."

"Oh,_ brilliant_ - just brilliant. _He'll _never take us in."

Sara brushed a stray hair from her face. "We should go to the Lea. Young Richard will have to take us in."

Will arched an eyebrow at her.

She smirked. "After all, we have his betrothed." She looked over at Marian, who was gradually coming awake.

Will grinned. "You are brilliant, Sara."

"I won't deny it," she replied with a grim smile, "but I have no idea how we are to get to Sir Richard's without the foresters seeing us leave Sherwood. You know they set patrols all along the borders of the king's forest."

Will looked over at Adam, who was flirting with a group of young peasant women. "Adam Bell has three horses, aye?"

* * *

I blinked, hidden in the leaves of Sherwood's edge. Before me stretched the sparse shrubs that marked a forest's borders, and past that the woodland dropped into an open field. The ground was dotted with rocks and puddles from a light shower of the morning. And cresting the north end of that field was Sir Richard's manor.

I had come awake to find Sara leaning over me with a worried expression on her face. Apparently, John had convinced Will that I was not the one who stabbed Robin. His reasoning was that I had sword wounds, and Robin was not a good enough swordsman to injure me, so they must have been from Gisbourne. And so they were taking me with them on an escape to the Lea, so that they could seek sanctuary for their wounded. If we stayed in Sherwood, the foresters would eventually find us, and so we needed to disappear for a few days.

Unfortunately, no more than a few rods in front of us, half a dozen forester patrols were swarming the area. Their comrades were combing the inner woods for outlaws while they awaited any attempted escapes. It was going to be a hellishly close call if we made it across the field without their notice, and simply hellish if we didn't.

I gulped, the smell of damp earth strong in the air. Glancing backwards, I saw Robin standing behind me, murmuring in undertones to Sara. She nodded at intervals, pointing at this rock and that. She managed to wrest a smile from him every now and then with her sarcasm, but the worry line was deep and clear in his forehead.

And then a piercing screech of happiness ripped through the leaves. Robin and Sara ducked down; I started in shock, peering at the rider as he blasted into the path of the foresters. Adam Bell howled in mad ecstasy atop his chestnut horse, gathering quite a group of foresters around him. He grinned broadly at them as they pooled nervously about his heels. "Ah, lads, 'tis mercy from the Lord I've found you!" he gasped, spreading his arms to the sky. "The outlaws – the blasted cads are in the glade! I barely got away with my horse; I had to leave my son with that whoreson Rob – Robin, is it? He and those rogues set upon me and my son – look at these wounds!" He proudly rolled up his sleeves to show the bruises along his arms. "The giant one tried to pull me to the ground, he did!"

Robin gnawed at his lip, watching Adam intently. It was a dangerous gamble – Adam had received those wounds fighting foresters, and if any of them recognized his face he was a dead man. But instead they took it as proof to his tale, and after Adam cried of the large number of outlaws, two or three patrols followed him back into the woodland.

John grinned at Sara, and she returned it readily. "Now Will is to play the son," she whispered, mightily pleased with the success of the plan.

We all crouched, frozen with fear. I shut my eyes against the terror, letting every ounce of me concentrate on those fierce retreating hoof beats. Oh, Heaven, I was so scared. Everything shook like a leaf in the breeze; my entire frame ached with unspoken prayers and pleas to the angels. I wished for the bravery I saw in steadfast John and quiet Nan, who were calm and unshakable. But Good Lord, if we were caught. I twisted my quivering hands into my skirts, arching my wrists and winding the dirty fabric; I gnawed fiercely at my lower lip. If we were caught…Good Lord, hurry, Will.

Finally Robin whispered, "Where is Will? He's supposed to take those other patrols," he hissed. We all stood breathless and vulnerable in our hiding, waiting for the patrols to become suspicious. I trembled, every ragged breath of Robin's sounding like the pounds of someone's feet. Please, please. Lord, do not let those men find us.

One of the foresters grunted. "Come along, Jack, let's have a look around – see if we'll find any little squealers." Everyone stopped breathing. A group of our tormentors began forging their way into the outer reaches of Sherwood.

Robin swore. Glaring firmly, he grabbed dirt from beneath us and smeared some in his hair. Sara grabbed him by his tunic and yanked him upwards. "Have you gone barmy, Rob?" she hissed. "You're all bloody; you can't do this."

He shook his head as the foresters drew closer. "It's all the better." he whispered, "I look like a group of outlaws beat the ever-loving God out of me, don't I?" Sara bit her lip in a moment's hesitation, but the tramp of forester feet grew nearer. "Ach, very well." She yanked down a sleeve of his tunic, exposing a bony shoulder, and then pulled some hair in front of his eyes.

He scurried some distance to the side of our little group and then crawled into the forester's path, moaning as if in pain.

One of the foresters stopped, not a leg's length from my hiding place, and turned his head. "Mark! Luke! Over there! Damn you, I think we've found the son!" I said a small prayer of gratitude as he turned away.

The foresters surrounded Robin as he whimpered and gasped out a tale for the ages. The outlaws had nearly killed him, but he had managed to get their leader in the eye – oh, they made him pay for that one – and run away. But the outlaws were on the move; in their pursuit of him, they had shifted position from the glade. They were near the waterfall – he'd show them the way.

There was a loud tramp of feet, and patrols set off into Sherwood with Robin in tow. Their mutterings and treading s faded into the day's sounds until we were scarce able to hear them over the heavy pants coming from our own mouths. I shut my eyes, willing them farther and farther down the path. _Leave us alone. Leave us alone. _"Let's step out," Sara whispered, fingers brushing my knuckles.

The lot of us stood slowly, rising with that caution we mistake for beauty in deer. Brave Nan's slim bare feet slid through the brambles first, daring the world in the way I couldn't. I didn't want to dare; I wanted to cower like a rat in the brush and piss myself with fear. I took a retreating step towards the shadows, but Sara's hand was firm around my wrist _Nay! _My arm jerked in protest for a moment. _Leave me to the forest, you Irish witch! Let me live and get off me! _But then her hard eyes flashed at me, a bitter challenge. "Prove to me that you are no Norman," she hissed, nails fierce in my arm.

And I stepped into the daylight, facing the harsh force of the sun above us.

Sara nodded her approval; then a grim smile found her lips. "And now we run."

Like a pack of wolves we tore across the meadow, breaking into mad sprints and fantastic hurdles, over rock and ditch and hare. I gasped with pain as we ran; my side seemed fit to split itself open as I tore along the stretch. But fear was a stronger scent on the air, and it drove me to sprint like a madwoman through the field. I pumped my arms and threw my legs at the damp earth in a flustered miserable rush for freedom. My legs struggled to leave the earth, aching and heavy as bruised lead. My windpipe was raw and my heart pounded at my chest until I was sure its beating left bruises. Oh, Lord, I could think of nothing but the coming foresters. In my mind, I had always thought I would be brave if faced with this sort of thing. But I was so frightened. What would happen to us if we were caught? What in God's name would they do to us?

I threw my aching ribs into the hard door of the manor gate, nearly sobbing with pain. "Richard!" I screamed, my voice a croaking, ragged mess. "Richard!" Nan joined my cries, holding a hand to her chest and gasping. Others pooled around us, jumpy as squirrels.  
But there was only hollow silence as I lay draped against the hard wood, an abandoned rag doll without purpose and without home. _Take us in, Richard. Please. Do something useful with your life – just once, you oaf._ My fist rose half-heartedly in some odd defiance before its dead weight dragged my arm back to the door. I screamed it one last time: "Richard!"

I could hear the patrols in the background, returning to their posts and seeing us run for the manor. I could hear John's grunt as he hefted some children onto his shoulders and ran faster. I could hear Sara's loud encouragement ringing across the field, mingling with the Gaelic curses she hurled at the pursuers. I could hear Nan beside me, cooing to some frightened little child. I could hear the broad and mocking defiance of David's voice railing against the approaching patrols.

I could hear the door open.

Richard swore violently at one of the stable lads and glared out into the day. "Is it outlaws?" I collapsed into the arms of my betrothed, an act I would never sink to in normal circumstances. Never. But I dropped wearily against him now and dug needy fingers into his tunic. "Good God, Richard, take us in. Take us in for my sake, if for nothing else." I shuddered, reaching blindly for his face. "I will wed you, Richard," I gasped, letting my palm frame his chin, "I will wed you next fortnight - no more stalling, I swear it - if you take us in - take us all in."

For a moment the ingrate paused, wondering if he really wanted my land so much. And he did. Bless his ignorant, wretched soul, he did. The outlaws and the peasants came flocking into the Lea, weary happiness on their faces. Nan spun round in the damp day, arms outstretched as she giggled with relief. A sprinting Ellie caught her roughly round the waist and squeezed. John tugged at their braids while Tain swung from his other arm.

And I lay content against Richard, letting his fingers in my hair and his arms round my shoulders. It was not loving, though for a moment I wished it was. It was possessive - I was his possession now; his mindless, thoughtless spineless little wife. And I knew it well as he that those were his expectations. No trouble.

In the soft silence, I heard a distant sound - someone was laughing. Laughing loud and harsh and mocking. I quietly lifted my head from Richard's chest and gently pushed him away. Who in Heaven was that? Sara followed me, slow steps making their way towards the gate. We both let our fingers and arms rest against the doorpost as we peered at the field below us.

Robin.

The foresters were dragging him by his hair across the field, shoving and striking and kicking. He was caught. They knew he was acting.  
Sara's face went pale. "Dar Dia," she whispered, "Oh, dear Heaven." She turned to me, guilt and fear and utter helplessness in her eyes. "We can't go to save him. We would all be caught if-if we tried." She shut her mouth hard, as if fighting tears or curses or both. Worried fingers knotted in her hair as she titled her back her head. "We shouldn't have put him in danger so – so soon…Where is Will?"  
Fear broke through my veins to course all throughout me, spreading like a wild liquid disease that turned my legs and arms into buckets of well water. Someone had to….somebody…oh, where could Will be?

I could feel the fear again, cold and hard like a needle. But it was a different fear. I was not afraid of what the foresters would do to me, but what they would do to him. It's an odd feeling odd, really, that I was so afraid of seeing him hurt. But watching the foresters pin him to the ground and bind his hands, sneering at him as they did it, was so bloody scary. I couldn't stand the idea of them hurting him; that the cads would even lay hands on him again made my heart race. Nay. Not again. Nottingham would not get within ten feet of him.  
I broke away from the gate and raced for the stables. No chance to save him on foot, but maybe… men are afraid when they see a horse tearing down the field towards them.

"Come on, come on - get this bloody thing in your mouth!" The horse was fighting me, rearing and snorting like I was a dog beneath its feet. I threw the bridle to the ground and whirled to glare at the stable boys. "Good God, you lazy whelps, get over here and make this horse fit for riding!" Stupid, stubborn beast! The boys rushed over and made short work of saddling and bridling the horse, their small quick fingers darting into the saddle buckles and easily fitting the bit into the horse's mouth.

"Aye, aye - my gratitude," I snapped, jerking into the saddle. It was madness, I knew. Sheer madness - charging at a huge swarm of foresters, hoping to free someone I was probably going to trample. But something stupid inside me screamed optimism. God, I would die of fear if I didn't at least try.

The horse ripped through the gates and dug quick hooves into the soil, churning up dust in the coming summer's warmth. I leaned forward, so close to the animal's neck that I could smell its humid breath on the air. Eugh. Oh, that smelt like a mound of rat dung mixed with serf sweat and kitchen swill and---

Holy Saints.

Robin had wrestled himself free with a tug that must have left him bald. With a furious snarl, he dove on one of the larger foresters, and the both of them wrestled back and forth. Within a trice, the two men were directly in my path. Robin pinned his adversary with a sneering grin as my horse drew close.

He looked up and met my eyes for one terrifying moment.

I swore and yanked violently on the reins, grabbing a great fistful of leather in each hand. Come on, you stubborn animal. You stubborn, stupid, obstinate dimwitted mule! Robin opened his mouth for the death cry, dark eyes wide with terror in his face.

I screeched a French curse and brutally jerked the horse to side. If that blasted thing wouldn't stop, it would at least leave Robin be. The three foresters I was blasting towards cried out and ducked out of the way, rolling and tumbling and whatever other maneuvers would save them. I wheeled around, on fire with victory. Come and get me, you thin _wretched_ little men.

I set the horse full gallop for the foresters surrounding Robin. He would dodge; he would be safe, but they would flee, they would be scattered like the selfish animals they were…I watched with grim satisfaction as my plan worked, sending the foresters out at a run like scattered chickens.

But then the horse reared.

I swore, but the _stupid_ cursed _ill-born_ nitwitted _half-brain_ reared, and came down on something with a sickening crack.

The forester screamed, hands jerking to the knee that had been crushed by a hoof. I shut my eyes, pretending not to see the look on his face – the pain, the disbelief, the absolute horror, most of all the fear. Instead I reached for Robin, clamping both hands round his forearms. He swiftly swung himself up into the saddle behind me, and we rode for the Lea.

"Are you still in one piece?" I called.

Clinging tightly to my waist, Robin answered: "Aye. Thank you, Lady Marian."

"My pleasure."

"We were lucky. If you hadn't had them by surprise, they would have dragged you off your horse."

Realizing what an idiot I had been, I didn't reply for a few seconds. That _had _been horribly close.

* * *

A/N: Yay! We're getting near the end...I think I have 34 chapters in total. (Yeah, I originally said 30, but I can change my mind. ;-) Thanks sooo much for reading! I have the best reviewers ever! - 


	29. Yo Momma

A/N: I wrote reviewer responses! Huzzah for moi! (I was a poet and I didn't even know it!) Anyhoot, everyone who reviewed since my last reviewer responses got one – I checked twice! - I hope you enjoy this chappie! Cuz I have the best reviewers on fanfiction – but shhh! – don't tell anyone! ;-)

**Alison** – Indeed, I _can_ speak with an English accent. And any fool who says otherwise will be D-E-D, dead. Haha. Great movie, great movie. I always enjoy the little hints you put in your reviews! They make my day! Thanks so much!

**Amadea** – I heart your reviews! They're always short and sweet, and you come back every chapter! hugs You seem to get very emotional. Lol. I'm glad to know I can get my readers all worked up:-)

**Black Pixie** – I _am_ blatantly anonymous, and you know it. wink I should be an FBI agent or something. Anyhoot, I am _very_ glad that you like Sara, because she's a weird combo of me and my sister (more sister). And she has to be likeable, after all. She took Will from us hopeless fan girls, by glory! Haha. Maybe that's why my Marian's so hard to sympathize with. She didn't take nothing special, so I didn't have to make her likeable. (haha. Jkjk) And speaking of not being likeable, some people on this website never update! You know the type? Lordie, they're annoying. awkward pause Oh, right. You're one of them. So sorry, sorry--- haha. Jk jk

**Black Sheep Alone** – Are you proud of me? Because I did update sooner, as you asked! bows low I know; I'm a god. Jk jk. You really make my day cuz you're a consistent reviewer! Much love!

**EntertainedbyGrass** – Haha. I love your pen name. Does it mean you're easily amused? Because I am too. My friend and I once laughed for a solid three minutes because she tripped over a sidewalk while we were running. But that's beside the point. Thanks for telling me the straight-up on "jennie". I just pick names at random cuz I like the way they sound. Historical accuracy and I aren't exactly connected at the hip. Lol.

**HarryluvsMoaningMyrtle** – Love the pen name! And thank you for your reviews!

**Indigo Dream** – Thanks for imparting your New England Young Writers thingie knowledge to me. I never listen to things that my friends say about my writing (they all wanna be scientists, you know), but I _do _listen to my reviewers. gasp! Thanks again! And you write such loverly reviews! They always have a ton of information, and I look forward to them (even when they're a little late!-)

**Inky** – Yay! Another reader! I'm so glad you've discovered and that you looked at the Robin Hood section! I heart Robin Hood stories, and so I'm all chipper that there's another person in this area of As for this story being well-researched, I just read too many medieval novels. :-) Sorry about all the cursing, but they said 'damn' all the time back then, supposedly. And I'm a bit of a potty-mouth myself. Haha.

**Jadeyuy**- You wanted to know how old I was going to have them, so here it is! I have Robin at 19ish, Marian at 20ish, Will at 21ish, and Sara at 20ish. John – I think he's 24ish, but I'm not totally sure yet. David16ish, Allan16ish, Lucy17ish.

**Kate/Eh,Man** – Beta buddy! You're so flipping nice. Not only do you muck through my over-obsession with the word "and" (lol) and my unusual ability to leave out nouns, but you leave me reviews! And you use your powers of French for good, not evil! ;-) You're the best!

**Llyra Monroe** – Kudos to thee for your props to Flogging Molly. (And for knowing who they are in general. Most people stare at my like I have serious issues when I say, "I love flogging molly!". Cuz you can take it as a verb/object thing and….yeah.) And your reviews always crack me up. Like the little dialogue w/Robin thing. You're brilliant, mi compadre. Now use that brilliance and start writing stuff again!

**Nightvision-uk** – I hope you soon have time to read more! (And if not, I'm glad that my first chapter was enough of a teaser to earn a spot in your favorites list!)

**Omlette Girl** – Guiness-soaked genius! Eeeeeee! Another Flogging Molly fan! Yes! I am not alone! happy jig! (All the posers at my school prefer Dropkick Murphys. Their fecking loss.) And then, of course, you are also a fellow track sufferer. I don't really know why I do it to myself. I'm not even good at it. But anyways, thank you so much for your very constructive and enthusiastic reviews! You always make 'em nice and long, and I always look forward to them! -

**ProxyWorker** – Yep, Robin can't die. Lol. I'd be screwed over and left w/out much of a plot, eh? ;-) Thanks for reviewing!

**Psalm 136** - nibbles on cookies Indeed, I was persuaded….-

**Rhapsody's Song** – You are so bloody helpful, do you know that? All the stuff that you don't understand, I suddenly realize that I don't understand what the flip I was writing either. It is verily helpful for editing. Kudos to you. And I'm sorry that despite your helpfulness, I sent you into your corner of depression. pats Rhapsody's Song on the head consolingly

**Ruby** – And here I thought I was the only one who took archery! High five! But my apologies for the language a few chapters ago. (I think I already explained this a teensy bit, but I'll repeat myself. ;-) I based Gisbourne on this poser I know who thinks he's cool because he swears a lot. He's a bully and I'm convinced he'll grow up to be a serial killer of some sort. So I thought he'd make a perfect bloodthirsty knight. Thank you again for your constructive criticism. You always offer some, and it is muchly appreciated. High fives for both archery and honesty!

**Squirrel Maiden of Green** - haha. Nice medieval language: "verily, I do pine when it is not updated." I enjoyed it, since I'm deficient and can't write that fancy stuff at all.I heart your reviews, and you rock!

**The Noble Rot** – I can't believe that you read this whole thing through in one night! gets unusually happy I'm sorry about costing you your law school homework. Lol. But at the same time, I'm insanely happy that you enjoyed my little ficcie so much! Thank you for making my day. throws cookies/pies/muffins/whatever-the-heck-The Noble Rot-likes best

* * *

Robin was sitting on the floor of the hall, wincing in pain. Sara sighed. "Bite the dagger, Rob. This is going to hurt like--" 

"_Bloody flaming Hell_!"

"Aye."

He turned his head away as Sara finished stitching the wound in his shoulder, his teeth clamped around the dagger in a death-grip. Fecks, that _hurt._ There was a sharp snap as she bit the thread. "Done," she announced, finishing off her knot.

Robin spat the dagger onto the floor. He turned eagerly to inspect his newly closed wound. It was stitched shut very neatly, and he had to admire Sara's skill. But he was not about to praise her after she'd promised it wouldn't hurt a bit. "Did you really have to make so many stitches?" he snapped.

She snorted. "If you want that blasted thing to close. You saw how many your leg needed, didn't you? Here – it's bleeding a bit."

Robin's eyebrow snapped into an arch. "You _did_ stick a needle in my flesh."

"I'll stick one in your eye if you don't sit still."

"And _I'll _stick my_ foot _in yours if you tell another lie. 'It won't hurt a whit, Rob – only a few stitches'. Ha! Whoring midwives!"

Sara did not return his teasing. "Will says that, doesn't he?"

Robin's face lost its playful smile. "Aye," he mumbled, eyes downcast. The two of them went quiet. The outlaws had been at the Lea for nearly a sennight, and there had been no sign of Will. At Marian's request, young Richard had even sent out a reward for the younger Norwell – alive, of course. But he was still missing.

David barreled into the room. "Rob! Sara! Sir Richard has returned! And he brings – he brings…" David's voice dropped, and his eyes were wide. "He brings the king with him."

Sara's mouth fell open, and she stared in blank awe at their messenger. The king of England, come to see them? She wondered what his reaction to her brogue would be; even better, what his reaction to the real Robin Hood would be. Knowing English nobility, the whole lot of them would be headless on the morrow.

But Robin whooped in excitement. "King Richard has come home then? And come to the Lea?" The king was home! Good sweet heaven, the king was home! And if Sir Richard brought him, it could mean pardons for them all! Or at least a consideration! He was confident that the knight would not willingly lead Sherwood's outlaws into danger. The king had come home! Robin cried out with joy again and leapt to his feet. Pain in his shoulder or no, nothing compared to this news.

David followed his leader down the hall, fiddling awkwardly with his fingers. "But, Rob, there's someone else with him…there's--"

Robin turned around, still grinning. "Aye, David? It could be the devil himself and I'd laugh."

"It's Will, but – don't smile like that – he's been captured."

Robin stopped smiling. "What?" The hall rang with the word. "Who captured him?" His voice was growing panicked. "It couldn't be Sir Richard, and the king doesn't know who he is and the sheriff would be bragging if he'd--"

"The lady of Locksley's foresters found him."

Robin blinked a few times, and then he frowned. "Since when are foresters under _Locksley's _control?"

David simpered. "The king gave them that eastern bit of Sherwood, remember? There's a turf wall and everything to separate it from the king's Sherwood, but we never go there."

Robin swore viciously and spat on the ground. He remembered now. Some long-forgotten Locksley had been given it by the king, as thanks for some service or another. It was easy enough to forget, what with the intense tracking the outlaws suffered from the _king's_ foresters. Prince John had granted their control to the sheriff for obvious political reasons, but he didn't dare give away what was Locksley's in the east. That lot caused the outlaws so little trouble Robin had nearly forgotten them. Of course, the one damned thing they forgot. "Any more grand news?"

David grimaced. "The sheriff."

Robin shut his eyes. _Stab me. Now. _"Thank you for telling us, David."

"Aye, Rob."

Robin smiled wearily at him and then started for the stable yard. Bloody Hell. That explained why Will had been so late. But why were _Locksley's _foresters out on the hunt – and out of their usual area? The outlaws only terrorized the High Road, and that was strictly the sheriff's jurisdiction. Never had they stolen so much as a pinch of flour from that sorry excuse for a pig yard leading to Locksley. That would have been sheer idiocy, attacking some useless seldom-traveled road and infuriating a powerful noblewoman. Were the nobles out for hire, then? The Lady of Locksley had hired her own foresters out to the sheriff for this occasion, mayhap? Had Locksley come into money troubles? Or had she—

He stopped dead.

_Good God. _

He tore down the hallway, streaking past doorways and slipping around corners. A page blinked curiously at him when he fell and slid onto his side, but he just charged back to his feet and continued sprinting for the stable yard. It _hurt_; he was not going to deny that his leg burned, but he had to reach the king or Sir Richard, or – _someone _who could help him.

He threw his shoulder against a door and the leather hinges willingly gave way to even his slight weight. He staggered out into the rich light of morning that filled the hallway, sickness bubbling in his mouth. Denial clawed at his innards, fear added a cold bite to his blood, and panic jerked about his arms and legs. He struggled in vain in conceal his worry, but his fingers seemed to shake in their own breeze.

It couldn't be true _she_ had taken Will. His mother, that whore of the shire, couldn't have gotten her hands on him. She had_ hated_ her nephew, ever since eleven-year-old Will had hurled the boar's head at her during her wedding dinner, calling her a heartless Hell-sent whore and telling the entire room how she had abandoned nine-year-old Robin to his own. Will's father had given him the switching of his life for it, but that didn't save the Lady of Locksley. At every opportunity he had, Will would insult her or remind the other nobles of her past and cost her political allies, up to the very day he came to Sherwood. He had never forgiven her, and she had returned the favor with a very dangerous grudge of her own.

Robin hopped out a window to land on the stable roof. A few stable lads were already perched there, and they were staring open-mouthed at the approaching train.

Some servants below were milling about, watching eagerly for the train's arrival. Others were scattering about in frenzy as the steward roared orders, his face reddening. Maids came spilling from the halls with old and smelly rushes in their hands while serving wenches went in the other way with fresh ones to scatter on the hall floor.

The group of nobles and royalty was only a cloud of dust beneath the horizon, their horses muffled black smudges and their banners alone clear to the eye. The triple lion of England's warrior king was considerably the largest in the train, followed by the black boar on Locksley's blood red pennant and the green tree of the Lea. The sheriff, lacking nobility, had no standard but that of the sheriff's office in Nottingham. Robin smirked, knowing it was a sore spot with the merchant-class man.

As preparations reached a peak commotion, Sir Richard's own horses were taken out to graze in an attempt to make space for the guests' own beasts. The steward glanced nervously at the distant pageant. Features were becoming clearer, and the frowning faces of the train's members were emerging from the fuzz. And another more definite component….

Will's obnoxiously loud voice was rocking against the walls of the Lea.

"Whore!" he cried, "The lady of Locksley is a flaming whore! WHORE!"

Robin smirked despite himself, and the stable lads snickered to one another.

"You want your guards to _gag_ me, milady?" Will continued loudly, in a tone of mock surprise. "But I thought you said nothing I said could affect you! Have I finally gotten to you, then?" He laughed heartily. "Whore! Whore! Heartless whore!"

Sir Richard was the first into the yard. Throwing his reins to a stable lad, he quickly ordered the servants to prepare rooms for their guests. His own rooms were to be cleared for the king's use, and his dead wife's rooms for the Lady of Locksley. The sheriff would have that small room by the only tower the Lea had, and one of the tiny chambers off the kitchen would have to serve as Will's prison. The Norwells would have a fit if he were treated as a common criminal, outlaw or no.

Robin leapt from the roof and dashed to the knight. "Sir," he began.

Sir Richard jumped in shock. "What in God's name are you doing here?" he cried.

"We came – we came for shelter a sennight past. Shall we leave now?" Robin asked it out of courtesy, but in honesty they weren't leaving without Will.

"Nay, nay." Sir Richard seemed distracted. "I was ordered to summon your band at any length; your arrival spares my horse the High Road's mud."

"Then might I ask you what has happened to my cous-"

Sir Richard shook his head. "Not now, Robin, pray."

"But--"

The knight's eyes saddened. "I know."

"Why did she---"

"I know nothing of it but that she appeared in London with Will as her prisoner and demanded an audience with the king. I can tell you no more of the matter."

"But--"

"Robin, please-"

"What crime has he committed? There is no price on his head!"

"He has killed three of her most prized foresters."

"Why did she need to see the king for that? It is not--"

"I was hardly invited to the audience. Her ladyship insisted upon its being pri-"

Robin grabbed Sir Richard's arm, forcing him to stop. "Will she see him die?" His dark eyes were wild with fevered worry and frightened desperation.

Sir Richard looked away. "I – I know not. Now please leave me be. I have much to do with these new guests." He went to move away, but could not ignore the terror of the other man. "I will do what I can for him; that much I can tell you."

Robin retreated into the throng of servants. He watched in silence as the sheriff and lady rode into the stable yard, chatting like old friends. Will was bound and thrown over a horse behind them, still yelling insults at the lady, venom spitting from his voice. Every word brought a grimace to his victim's face, and she outright grit her teeth at some of them. Robin could not control his own grin, and when Will looked up and saw it, he winked. "Murdered any children lately, Auntie? Or are you content with leaving your son to starve?"

Elizabeth leapt from her horse, purpose and hatred in her step. She reached Will in three strides and struck him savagely across the face. He rolled off the horse and fell in the mud, earning himself the mocking laughter of the sheriff. But Will was sitting up in a trice, his face slathered in scorn. It seemed to Robin that his cousin was invincible when it came to humiliation. Even tumbling helplessly into the muck of a stable yard left his feathers unruffled. With his nose bleeding and horse dung in his hair, Will managed to contempt the lady who had pushed him. "Brave as ever, milady," he sneered.

Glaring, the lady of Locksley jerked her head up to survey the remainders of the small crowd. She frowned at the stable lads still reclining on the roof, trying to frighten each in turn to come and help her down. Finding no success, she began to pan the rest of her audience. When her eyes met Robin's, they narrowed sharply, as if she were trying to discover why she remembered his face. But she was soon distracted by the arrival of the Lionheart.

He entered last, preceded by a legion of servants. Towering above his personal guard, he was glaring with irritation. He shook his red-gold hair and snapped at one of the stable lads for handling his horse too roughly. Dismounting, he roared for Sir Richard, who came running out of a kitchen door, face drawn. "My liege?" he cried, flying to his king and dropping to one knee. "You wanted me?"

The king's response was a babble of furious French. The only two words Robin could make out from this distance were "Robin" and "Hood". Sir Richard nodded dutifully and offered his quiet replies, also in Norman French. The two of them continued chatting for a few moments, and then Sir Richard took a sharp turn into the manor.

Robin spun round and went to cut him off. Striding up the stairs, he bobbed his head to Lady Marian and tried to hurry past. But she put her hand on his arm, warm eyes deep with questions. "Who is it?" she asked, and he almost tore away. Looking at her, he wanted to dash his head against the stone and never wake again – never wake to see her wed Richard or look down at him – only stay with her eyes looking up at him and that meaningless gesture on his arm making his skin tingle.

"The king," he answered instead, "the king, the lady of Locksley, the sheriff, and Sir Richard have come. I believe the king wishes to speak with me. So pray excuse me as I go down to see him." He made a move to leave her behind, but she kept hold of him. "Robin Hood," she began. He came so close to wincing at that formality, but he recovered himself. "You cannot speak Norman French," she reminded.

"Nay, I can. Will taught me." He stopped and stared at the dirt on his feet.

She had obviously heard that much. "I am sorry for Will's capture." She, too, stared awkwardly at the ground. "You're barefoot."

He blinked at her. "Aye."

"The king might take that as an insult. I've heard he is very proud."

"Oh."

"I might – well, Richard has a few pairs of shoes. If you wanted, we could hurry to his chambers and – his men would let me in, I'm sure – if it would help at all we--"

"My gratitude."

She stopped mid-sentence and nodded awkwardly. "Oh, aye, then. Come – come along with me, then." The both of them jogged quickly to Richard's chambers, and Robin yanked on a pair of the other man's shoes. They pinched at his toes and they were far too wide for his narrow heels. But at least they were shoes. As he went to stand, Marian reached out almost unknowingly and fixed his hair. He went stock still, trying not to breathe. He knew he looked a mess, and Nan made the same sweeping move through his hair nearly every morn, but it felt so different when the fingertips were Marian's.

Peering upward at her, he quickly asked, "Do I look presentable now, milady?"

She smiled – a genuine, half-teasing half-cheering smile that she used to wear – and his lips eased upward of their own accord. "Aye," she answered, "the king cannot take too much offense."

He bowed quickly and then raced off down the corridor, trying not to think about the nice curve of her smile. Sir Richard was looking for him, and the king of England was waiting for him; he was in no position to think of lady's lips.

"Robin!" The old knight clamped onto his forearm and began dragging him toward the stable yard. "The king wishes to take a ramble about the grounds; his muscles are sore after that ride. And he wants Robin Hood to accompany him."

"He speaks Norman French?"

"Aye."

"Will taught me that; I'm far more than tolerable, but not completely fluent. And I tend to use large words."

"That's not a problem; he's a king, and he is accustomed to that."

"Has he heard that I am blonde and all of that?"

"Unfortunately, he has."

"Would he be angry if – well, if _this _appeared before him?"

"He has the Angevin temper, if that is what you are asking."

"So we are all as good as dead."

"You are wrong," a voice from down the hall called. Robin and Sir Richard whirled round to find Allan-a-Dale smirking merrily at them. He was bedecked in Lincoln green from his hood to his hose, and leather boots were on his feet. His green cap had a long brown feather in it, and a white hunting horn hung beside a sword on his borrowed leather belt. A bow was in his left hand, and feather-tipped arrows stood proudly in the quiver on his back.

An entertained smile spread across Robin's face as he took in the sight. Allan was the very picture of the ballad's Robin Hood, with his blonde hair and fine face.

"What are you smiling for, Robin? Don't you see? I am fluent in Norman French – it's the language of the nobility, after all, and I've played in their halls many times. I can pretend to be Robin Hood!"

"But Allan--"

"The king has heard of a blonde outlawed nobleman, a-t-il pas? Sir Richard – you repeated this tale and did not mention that Robin Hood was…well…"

"I did go along with the tale," the knight agreed, throwing an apologetic smile at Robin.

"How do you think the king will react when he hears of it being a lie? He will be furious; you do not lie to the Norman royalty if you wish to keep your head. We could not endanger your favor, since ours depends upon it."

"And so you suggest that we extend the lie?" Robin replied skeptically, secretly warming to the plan. Allan could play the idealist better than any of them, and he did fit the tale. Not to mention his exceptionally useful French fluency.

"You need a blonde, good-looking man fluent in Norman French! C'est moi!"

Robin's lips tilted into a smirk at the self-confidence, but he sincerely approved. "Very well, Allan-a-Dale. I ask you to please convince the king that we deserve a chance for pardon. Mention the ransom, the sheriff's corruption and involvement with Prince John--"

"The destitution of the Saxon people and their loyalty to his majestic and noble person?"

Robin laughed. "Aye, Allan, aye."

The minstrel bowed low, sweeping off his cap. "Worry not."

* * *

Lucy screeched in excitement, hurling her arm exuberantly round Allan's neck and kissing him ferociously. "Oh, you brilliant devil!" she cried, resting her face against his shoulder. "I can't believe you earned us a conference with the king of England!"

Robin and John dumped a bucket of water over Allan's curls, laughing and clapping him on the back in congratulation. Nan swung Sara around, hugging her tightly. "We shall get Will a pardon tomorrow, Sara! And then all of us can go home!"

The Irishwoman smiled sadly, but in truth she didn't believe that the lady of Locksley would ever let Will free.

* * *

A/N: Another chapter, another depressing ending...Thanks sooo much for sitting through this long chapter! 


	30. Robin the Spaz Monkey

A/N: This chapter is beastly long; sorry about that. I guess that's because I hate it and I hate what happens in it and so I just kept writing and hoping I'd end up liking it.

Meh. O.o

So, for putting up with this creature… a tank-sized thanks goes out to Eh,Man! What would I do without my beta buddy?

Anyhoot, funny story time. One of my friends, an aspiring author/poet, read this story last weekend. She informed me that Robin is an emo. Hahahaha. Do you agree?  And on the subject of Robin, be prepared to hate him…

* * *

The outlaws were seated on the lower tables of Sir Richard's hall, muttering nervously to one another. Those peasants who had fought with them were not at the meeting, as they had no prices on their heads and no part in collecting the king's ransom. David managed to keep the outlaw spirits up with various impressions of the sheriff, but Robin was still too nervous to do anything but fiddle with his frayed tunic.  
King Richard came into the room unexpectedly, his face grim with determination. He was followed by Sir Richard, but _not_ the Lady of Locksley or the sheriff. Instantly, everyone dropped to one knee. David knocked his bench over in doing so, and Robin prayed that the king hadn't heard Sara swear at him, but it went well enough. The women were all in dresses, so that the king couldn't accuse them of being unholy cross-dressers, and everyone had a pair of boots. They weren't an impressive group, but they did look like they could put up a fight, however small. 

The king, on the other hand, was mightily impressive. He looked like one of those Irish giants Sara told the children stories about in her good moods– red-gold hair, broad shoulders, and very long legs. Nan thought that her king was devilishly good-looking, especially for a seasoned soldier. Robin thought he was devilishly _frightening, _and his elegant clothes revealed a vain streak that did not bode well. But even these telling signs didn't wipe the smile from his face. The king was home; he was home!

King Richard motioned impatiently that they could stand, and strode to his place at the head of the table. The outlaws quickly stood along the benches, gulping down what was left of their fear. They only dared seat themselves after the king did, and their just-scrubbed hands were quivering as fiercely as their hearts.

"Are we to understand that you are the outlaws of Sherwood that we have heard so much of?" King Richard began, spreading his arms wide and opening in the royal plural. The outlaws looked nervously at one another, unable to understand the Norman French. After nods from Robin and Allan, quiet murmurs of "aye" went up from everyone. It was deathly silent in the room as the restless defendants watched one another, and Sir Richard turned to Robin with worry in his eyes. Robin shot him a reassuring smile; his confidence in the king grew with each passing second.

"And where is your infamous leader?"

Robin gulped and lifted his eyes to meet Allan's. The minstrel straightened his back, lifted his chin, and called, "Here I am, Your Highness." He could see the king ordering guards in to slaughter him, or maybe even send him to Nottingham's dungeons. And he tried to pretend he was not frightened in the least, but his knees were quivering beneath the table.

"You are the one who organized this band's contribution to our ransom fund, are we correct?"

"Your Highness," Allan answered clearly, "I did indeed. But the others stole as much for your sake as I did, even if the original idea was mine."

The king leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "We will be honest with you all," he began, using the royal plural, "Upon arriving in London, we were immediately barraged with complaints of your band's dishonest exploits. Noble families from all across England blamed you for robbing them along the High Road in Sherwood. We had a clear intention of hanging your lot from the highest tree in our royal forest." There was a pause of utter silence in which the group stared blankly at him and pretended to comprehend. Robin shot Nan a grimace to give her the general air of the message, and regretted it when panic spread quickly along the benches.

"We would have stretched every neck present," the king continued, "were it not for one of our dearest friends, whom we ourselves knighted, Sir Richard of the Lea. He convinced us that you were honest men with intentions of saving us from the Austrians. He also claims that much of your stolen gold was sent as a ransom to bring us back to England. And based on his words, and those of your leader, we have decided to grant all of your pardons for your noble actions."

The room was deadly silent for a trice. Robin grinned broadly and mouthed the word 'pardon' across the table at Gatty. Allan whispered the word in Hal's ear, and soon the news had lighted on every mind in the room. A few mouths dropped open in shock, but most of the outlaws sat in stunned silence.

And then it hit them hard. David whooped, and he and John began cheerfully punching one another's shoulders. Lucy laughed merrily and clapped her hands, accepting and returning the various hugs being thrown about the room. Nan squealed excitedly, flinging her arms about Robin's neck. Ellie screeched with excitement and shook Hal in her glee. Everything was going to be fine now that the king was coming home.

Working his grinning face around Nan's arms, Robin turned to Allan and mouthed his cousin's name. Allan nodded, adjusting his feathered cap and smirking confidently. "Your Highness," he began, bending his head in respect, "I must thank you on behalf of all my followers for your boundless mercy and godly justice. In today's council, you have only bolstered the credibility of England's widespread opinion– that you are one of the fittest sovereigns to ever grace our English soil." Robin struggled mightily to straighten his smirk, listening to the lavish flattery. Allan continued unknowingly in his flowing Norman tongue, "However, I must presume to request another boon from your royal person, for there is one unsettled matter that I must address. A member of my band, the young nobleman William of Norwell, has been arrested by the Lady of Locksley on charges of murdering her forester. While not present today, due to his captivity, he is also a vital member of our band, and enthusiastic in his loyalties to your illustrious person. Is he too pardoned?"

The king sighed and shook his head. "Nay, for he killed the Lady of Locksley's forester, not ours."

Robin blurted in French. "And? Your Highness is the highest power in the land! How could the wife of some country lord tell you how to carry out justice?" He said it cheerfully enough, as if the king's last statement had been a joke.

Allan shot his leader a warning look, but Robin did not even glance in his direction. He was waiting for the king's answer, the false hope all too obvious on his face.

King Richard's eyes lowered. "No one tells us how to carry out our justice," he replied evenly, his voice frighteningly calm, "especially not a freshly pardoned outlaw in rags."

Robin was shocked. He had not meant to offend; it was just ridiculous that his mother should be able to tell the king how things were done. "Your Highness, I never meant--"

"_Silence_!"

Robin jumped in his seat and then nodded meekly. He stared down at the table, thoroughly cowed by the unexpected animosity. What had Will done to deserve this? He hadn't said anything to the king, had he? Or had he irritated the king with all his yelling on the journey to the Lea? But the king wouldn't…He could _not _do this; he could not refuse pardon to only one of the outlaws. Not to Will. _Take my pardon instead. _

He looked pleadingly at Allan, but the minstrel was ignoring him. "Please accept my apologies, Your Grace," Allan continued, bending his head in apology. "The common peasants are not educated in proper etiquette." His quicksilver tongue rattled off silken explanations and gold-laced flattery with enviable delicacy. "Their loyalty to yourself is unshakable, but so too is their loyalty to one another. I am sure that in your vast wisdom you understand the close bonds of a brotherhood forged between the twin jaws of death and danger. You were yourself an excellent soldier, and doubtless received such devotion from your fellow warriors. "

The king grunted in approval, eyes on the dark-haired rebel four seats down.

Quickly changing the subject, Allan ventured, "Perhaps it would be better for you and I to discuss William of Norwell's fate with the Lady of Locksley." He prayed that Robin would keep quiet and let diplomacy work its magic; with ample time and grand luck, he had no doubt in his abilities to convince the king to release Will. But if Robin decided to be impertinent…the king's temper was infamous…

Allan's calm air and comfortable set of his shoulders revealed none of these worries in his head. He continued evenly, "I can promise that _my _emotions will not interrupt the proceedings of order and justice. I have only once allowed myself the audacity of questioning my betters, and that was in the matter of Nottingham's current lord sheriff. I do believe him most unfit for his position. Are you going to remove this corrupt man now that you are home, Your Highness?"

King Richard shook his head. "We do not plan on staying in England for more than a year," he replied quietly.

"But your people need you!" Robin cried, his face distraught.

"We are royalty!" King Richard roared suddenly, "It is our right to engage in whatever conquests we deem necessary!"

Robin paused, staring open-mouthed at the explosion. The timidity that ran so freely through his veins had frozen over, halting all movement within him. He knew full well it was time to retreat. But there was a thick pit of anger brewing in the center of him, and it spread like brushfire through his every sense. That whoreson! King or not, he was damned selfish. He didn't want trouble with the Lady of Locksley, and so he was going to let Will die. Will. Will, who was twice the man this so-called king was, who was in love with Sara and not with the looking glass, and who was bloody well responsible for Robin being alive and sane. This Angevin bastard was going to hang _Will _for the sake of Robin's whoring, selfish mother.

Hell would freeze over first.

"What of our rights?" he snapped furiously, "What of the people's right to be protected and cared for by their king? Is that so suddenly invalid because of your own vain bloodlust?"

Allan fired a murderous glare at Robin, trying to silence him.

Infuriated by the impudence, Richard roared, "We do it for Christ and England, you impudent whelp!"

"More alike for your own soul!" Robin sneered, lip curling with disgust as he leaned forward across the table.

"Rob!" Nan cried, hand going to her chest. She didn't know what he was saying, but she knew that he was arguing with the king of England, and that was quite enough to convince her he was being a fool.

"And if we do?" came King Richard's angry reply, "The king's soul is the country's soul!"

"Mayhap your soul would not be in so much danger if you stayed home and _saved_ lives, instead of gallivanting off to Jerusalem and _taking_ them!"

David flinched.  
Nan tugged on Robin' sleeve, trying to make him sit.

Allan hissed a protest at his leader, head shaking ever so slightly. He'd lose his pardon if he went on much longer. Tact would do everyone, especially Will, a hell of a lot more good than this outburst. _Be silent, Robin; for Will's sake, stop your tongue. _

"Rob, apologize before he takes your pardon," Nan whispered. But Robin was quaking with rage, and would listen to no one. He jerked his sleeve out of her grasp angrily, stalking towards King Richard without even nodding his head in respect.

Sara stopped breathing.

"You will sit down! We have the kingship! We were chosen so by the Lord God for this position!" King Richard continued angrily, staring down at Robin with the superiority of a noble gazing at a peasant. But Robin glowered right back at him, with as much, if not more, pride in his stare. "And? So was Christ chosen to be the Son of God! Did He abuse his position? Did He carelessly slaughter the defenseless as was His whim? Nay! He died on a damned cross to save His people! And what do you have to do save yours? You only have to stay in your own country! And you won't even do that, you selfish Norman!"

King Richard's fist broke Robin's recently healed nose on contact and he fell backwards. The sovereign, for all his noble upbringing, was still twice the size of the outlaw.

"You are not my people!" he roared. The cold words struck Robin like a backhanded slap. His mind flashed with the sounds and sights of Sara's stories, the tales of Irish tara Hill and her High Kings. And he was insanely jealous. The High King always had and always would be Irish; he spoke Gaelic, followed Brehon law, and would take the invader's sword in his own heart to save the island. Or at least Sara believed he would.

But looking up at Richard, Robin suffered no such delusion. He knew this man was no coward, but he would take the invader's sword in his heart to save his crown – not the people governed by that crown. What devilish idiocy had ever possessed him to think that a wealthy half-French giant would care for a motley nation of Saxon and Norman mutts? Because the man was a soldier? Ha! He was a commander, a general who sent such mutts to their death before his morning meal.

He felt a dry illness cracking about his mouth and drying his lips. His spit tasted of bile, and his lip tasted of blood, the pair nearly making him ill. He hated his king.

And worst of all, the hatred of the English didn't matter the worth of a rusted sword to King Richard.

Richard the Lionheart.

Richard Coeur de Lion.

Richard the Norman.

The Norman. The nitwitted, French-tongued son of a jackal Norman. Sitting on the throne just long enough to snatch the crown and sell it off for soldier's wages. And now it seemed he had come back for the throne, too. Lovely. Stunning. Smashing. Marvelous – simply magnificent.

Robin wanted to scream at the man, hit him, throw him – out a window, in a dungeon, down a well – anything violent that would burn out his rage and unclench his fists. He wanted to jam his elbow in someone's eye, snap a spine or break a nose bridge. He wanted to break a wall, splinter a bow…he wanted…he wanted…

He wanted Will out of prison.

The king was babbling, and he knew he should have been listening. "For this show of audacity, we should revoke your pardon this instant. But we will not so soon sentence a man to death who has brought us out of Phillip's grasp. Be warned, however; if you dare to correct your sovereign in that manner again, we will take the pardon without a moment of hesitation. Were it not for your well-mannered leader we should not even show such mercy now." Robin's face mottled with humiliation and rage, because he could not lift a finger in retort. He couldn't so much as shove the king. But he could use his tongue.

"Fine, then! Take it! I would rather live in the disapproval of such a self-centered one than in his debt!" Robin could not keep his fists still for all his rage was boiling inside of him. They were quaking furiously with the rest of him. How could this man who had everything leave the people he was in charge of to starve and die and be ruled by tyrants all for his own disgusting vainglory? How did he bloody well live with himself?

"If we disgust you so much, whelp, why in God's name did you give so much to our ransom? Why do you so oppose our brother?"  
Robin stood, ignoring the blood trickling from his nose, and met the king's eyes. "You had a right to be king, Your Highness," he began quietly. "Your people respected that right and would not let the usurper take it from you. I suppose I had hoped that a _Christian_ king would in turn care for their rights."

King Richard stared at him in amazement for a few moments. How did this man dare to insult his king so? Just who in Creation did he think he was?

Oh, but there the outlaw went again, challenging the king of England. His face was drawn straight and his chin was high; but the proud face so starkly contrasted the despairing eyes that it seemed those dark irises were trying to tell the rest of the body what an idiot it was. Not one of the limbs listened, particularly not the mouth. Robin's voice was a clear, quiet disappointment against the walls. "You have made it painfully obvious, my liege, that I was a fantastic idiot to think you capable of such compassion."

For only an instant, Richard was intimidated by the look of frustrated disgust that was staring him down. For maybe the first time in ten years, the king felt accused. He had been fearless at Acre; Saracen warriors were a shining trifle in the sands of the desert; he knew he had done well on Crusade; but had he done wrong by England?

It mattered not. He was king and this man was an outlaw.

"And do you know where such fantastic idiots belong, scum?" the king asked. Robin was backing towards the window, as if afraid. Nan's face softened with compassion, and she turned pleading eyes to Allan. But the minstrel's eyes were riveted on the advancing king, and she could see he was struggling to find the words that would save Robin that man's wrath.

King Richard smirked wickedly at Robin. "Hiding in Sherwood like the dogs they are. Or even better, sacrificing heads they don't use to contribute to funding for the next Crusade. How much is yours worth now? 500 pounds? Or is it 1000?"

Robin set his shoulders back and his chin high. "My head is worth nothing, since my king obviously sees value in no life besides his own." Before the king could react, Robin had dropped out of the window.

The king motioned to one of the guards at the doorway. "Kill the bastard. His pardon's been revoked." He had not truly been planning to take away the pardon, but after that last show of audacity, he was quite prepared to call out the guard. The outlaw would soon learn just how dear his life was.

Allan started forward, as if he were actually considering blocking the doorway. Nan opened her mouth to beg the king for mercy, and John half-rose from the bench.

But suddenly Sir Richard of the Lea dropped to one knee at the king's feet. "Your Highness," Sir Richard pleaded, "when I saved your life at Aquitaine you promised me any boon I asked. I beg you now not to take the life of the outlaw."

The king's eyebrows shot upward. He was greatly fond of Sir Richard, who though a quiet and humble speaker, brilliantly outdid his words when he fought. Why could this brave man want some half-dog forest scum alive? He knew Sir Richard was kind-hearted; he had seen it from the almost unmanly compassion the knight had shown to wounded men. But this was completely unexpected. He looked down in puzzlement at his friend, and knew that whatever the oddity he'd grant the request. King Richard, no matter his faults, was exceedingly brave, and he loved a brave man.

Sir Richard smiled weakly up at his king. "Please, my sovereign and friend. Please. He did not mean what he said."  
The king helped Sir Richard to his feet. "My friend, we will spare the outlaw's life, but we cannot let you waste your boon on his head. We will not see you throw such a thing away, though God knows you are welcome to more than one."

"So the outlaw lives? And you will leave him his pardon?"

"Aye, he lives, and he keeps the pardon. Devil take you for asking so much of us." King Richard sighed and returned to his seat. Nan practically gasped aloud with relief, palm over her thumping heart.

"But what is this about the sheriff you asked earlier, Robin Hood?" King Richard turned to Allan, questions in his eyes.

Allan was still recovering from the anxiety of before, so his answer was far from eloquent. "He is – he oppresses the people terribly and is mightily corrupt!"

"Very well. After I have something in this stomach of mine, we shall discuss this supposed blackguard." He nodded at Sir Richard. "Pray, see that you call him. We are to decide the fate of this sheriff today."

* * *

A/N: A note on the "we" thing: The use of that word isroyal megalomania, weirdly enough. They use the word "we" when talking about themselves, because supposedly their opinions are that of the whole country. (Ego-central) So when they make a statement, they're speaking 'as the whole country' - "L'etat c'est moi" and all that jazz. It's basically saying: "I'm so freaking smart that nobody could ever disagree with me, and so I might as well speak for everyone now."  
The things you learn when reading Philippa Gregory novels... 

You guys are the absolute best! - I heart you. -


	31. For Whom the Bell Tolls

A/N: Okay. I know I took forever and a goldfish's lifespan, but my pre-calc teacher is a foaming-at-the-mouth beast. I got a six-minute lecture for asking to use the bathroom. The audacity of me!

Up hers.

Anyhoot, I had to study for her tests like crazy, and I wanted to kill Sir Isaac Newton, but Time had already done the job.

So please forgive me. :cue puppy dog eyes:

IMPORTANT NOTICE: THIS CHAPTER SUCKS. Remember how I've been saying I hated the last few chapters? This is the crest of the suckage hill. Hence, it's the longest. I struggled to fit in something I liked/that was worthwhile while not boring.

I failed.

Enjoy it anyways, and a sleigh load of thanks for reading! You comfort me after I get my pre-calc tests back. -

* * *

"Did someone let the dogs in?" The sheriff of Nottingham smirked at the victim of his latest witticism. Robin Hood looked back at him and shrugged. "You're here, aren't you?" Robin was sitting halfway up the staircase with a crust of bread in his hand. He'd spent the afternoon fitting himself into every dusty corner of the Lea, and jumping to his feet at the sound of someone else's. The panic had ebbed from a short stay on the staircase, which was frequented only by servants.

The sheriff frowned. "Silence, peasant. Where is the king?"

Robin's face tightened. "You will find him in the main hall."

"Angry with our king, are you? I_ did_ hear about your outburst today." A dart of wintry panic cracked Robin's calm. He should have known the sheriff was here to arrest him. Why didn't he sprint away when he had the chance? There were probably guards around the corner. Someone had given him away. He'd been trapped like a rat in the cellar.

But the sheriff wasn't moving. He was biding him time. "Why such fury? Is it because I shall be allowed to keep my position?"

A scornful snort burst from Robin's suppressed fear. "I might as well get mad at a dog because it was going to play the lute."

"You think_ I'll_ lose my position? Ha!"

_Why is he still standing there? _"I suppose_ you_ think that men have never been dismissed for being the devil incarnate?"

"If they're only a devil in the minds of fools, I doubt that the sane would dismiss them."

Robin popped an eyebrow. "And if they are _dishonest _devils?"

The sheriff tensed, staring hard at him. "_What _are you implying?"

Robin blinked with mock innocence. No one was going to arrest him. There were no guards around the corner, and he was safe. "Why, milord, _I _am not implying anything. I am merely being inquisitive."

"Inquisitive, is it?" His voice was jagged with scorn. "Here's a question – what am I going to do to you when the king orders you back into the Nottingham dungeons?"

Robin returned the scorn. "Prepare for the apocalypse, doubtless. Because that's when the king will order me into your dungeons. My band gave a grand sum to his ransom fund, unlike yourself."

"Ah, but I didn't insult him to his face."

Robin shrugged, glancing dismissively at the wall. "Nay, not to his face."

A vicious kick swung him stair-ward, and stone met spine. "Don't try to threaten me, outlaw."

Robin locked around his attacker's ankles and tugged them into the air. The sheriff's back smacked clumsily against the stairs, and Robin pinned him down by the shoulders. "I'm not in your dungeon anymore, Devilspawn; don't strike me unless you want your face broken. And _that_ wasn't a mere threat."

A malicious grin snaked the length of the sheriff's lips. "Neither is this: William of Norwell will hang."

Robin hauled the sheriff towards him until their noses were nearly touching. "Devil take you," he hissed, "If Will hangs, I promise to stretch _your_ neck from the highest tree on the High Road until Hell opens it mouth to eat you."

He stood, fingers bowed and squeezed into white-knuckled fists. It was wickedly satisfying to humble the man who had humiliated him so viciously. He stepped back. "But you only have a bit of time left before you meet with King Richard, and you have all eternity to roast in the Devil's fire. You may rise." Robin made himself sick; he was acting like a power-hungry bully, but he couldn't stop himself. It just felt so bloody good to drag his tormentor's self-esteem through the dirt.

The sheriff rose quickly and brushed himself off, wearing a sneer as if he'd won. "Revenge is best left to those with the means for accomplishing it," he snapped.

Robin let him have that parting shot. He tilted his head back and let it rest against the wall. He put his hands in his hair, and tried to calm down. He stared hatefully at the sheriff's retreating back, and was physically shaking with the desire to chase after him and knock him down. But he would have his revenge. He'd have it soon enough.  
Nan came down the hall a bit later, hands on her hips and frown on her face. "Have you lost your wits, then, Robin?" she yelled.

He didn't look at her, eyes on the stair below him. "Nay, only my temper."

"Well, a grand lot of good it did us with the king. You owe Allan and Sir Richard a great debt for saving your life, do you know that?"

"Aye!" Robin knew he shouldn't have snapped; but he knew all too well how great his debt was.

"And what use did it do? Will isn't any closer to a pardon; if anything, he is farther from it because of your antics! What in all of God's green earth did you mean by that?"

"I don't know!" he shouted, and felt guilty when Nan jumped. The sheriff's threat was a drumbeat in his head. "But I _do_ know that it was stupid! I just…_what_ was I supposed to do?" His voice cracked open like a water jug, and he was sure the tears would spill out. "Did you expect me to sit there quietly while he sentenced my cousin to _death_?"

"He is the king of England, Rob! They bloody anointed the man!"

"Aye?" Bitterness locked his composure in place. "Pigs are greased for fair day just as well, but I don't hit my knees when they pass!"

She put her hands in her hair and growled in frustration. "You ill-tempered man!" she hissed, "It would have been far wiser to check that tongue of yours, and let Allan handle things. _He _understands nobles, does he not?"

"He doesn't understand how bloody much my mother hates Will."

"Halfwit! That's completely beside the point. Rational men don't attack the king of England's morals to his face!"

"And do you think that Will would have sat silent if _I _was the one that royally-greased hog sentenced to death?"

Nan sighed. "Nay," she answered, "but we _expect_ Will to throw a fit. You fooled us into thinking that you were rational." She shook her head. "Heavens, Rob, could you not keep quiet? Sara managed to, and she's near sick with worry."

"I know." He sank down a bit, groaning. "It…I – I suppose she's just clever. And I'm not. She must be fit to kill me, and rightly so."

"Nay, she'll let you live a bit longer. She said she plans to congratulate you on saying what we all should have. But she's also promised to punch you so hard that your wits come out your ears. Take that as you will."

"Oh." He bit his lip and winced at the wall. "Do you really think I ruined Will's chances?"

"Nay," Nan answered, "He has Sir Richard on his side. And Will's a brave man; the king admires bravery. But royalty's fickle, and you were _very _rude. I don't – I don't know." She brushed at his unkempt hair. "Ah, Rob, what are we going to do with you?"

He shrugged. "If you want to please my mother and the king, jam a pike up my gullet." A concerned frown budded, gnawing at a corner of his lip. "Should you be in the hall now?"

"Lady Elizabeth has yet to arrive. I doubt that _I'm_ needed if she isn't."

"_She's _not attending the conferences. Not invited, I suppose."

"Why not?"

"Because discussing terms with that bitch would be making a pact with the Devil. That's worthy of damnation –as she is."

"Robin!" Nan was disturbed by the casual hatred in her friend's voice.

"That woman is Hell-sent and Hell-bent! If she choked on her bread, I'd break out the strong ale and make merry 'til dawn!"

"That isn't Christian at all."

"_Neither_ is my mother. And you can hardly condemn me for wanting a death that would set Will free."

She shrugged. "I _should_ go soon. Will you walk with me to the door? I have to ask you about something."

Robin nodded obligingly, and the pair set off for the main hall.

Nan sighed. "How will we be able to show the king Lord Wilfred's information? Remember that bit of parchment he gave you in Sherwood, aye? Well, none of us can understand a word of it, and Allan certainly can't show it to him. He'd seem bloody deceitful and then we'd all be done in."

But Robin shook his head. "Nay, I gave it to Adam. He'll present it to the king."

"Oh, aye._ That_ will work well; the man has only killed nine or ten nobles." Her tongue was leaking sarcasm.

He shrugged. "I doubt the king knows that much, and if he does, we can claim they were loyal to John. I've no doubt that Adam can lie himself out of Hell's belly."

"But Adam _will _present it?"

Robin shrugged, a half-light smile itching up his cheek. "Likely after the king says he will reinstate the sheriff."

At that Nan allowed herself an irresponsible snicker, and they were reconciled. Together they milled about the hall and waited with the other outlaws. The sheriff rammed the door open and stuck his head out. "When do you plan to enter, Robin Hood?"

Nan arched an eyebrow. "Robin Hood is still eating in the yard, milord sheriff, if you wish to speak to him."

"_EXCUSE ME?_" He pointed insistently at Robin. "Nay, this is the man I caught." There was hard panic in his tone, and blunt anger in the set of his mouth.

A dismissive shrug dropped from Nan's shoulders. "You caught the wrong man, Milord Sheriff. It is that simple."

Robin smiled smugly at the sheriff. "My name is Cabot Greenfox, milord sheriff. Doubtless you will have the pleasure of being introduced to my leader, Master Robin Hood, later in the day."

"Doubtless I will have the pleasure of treating him as I did you, later in the day."

"If you even try," Robin answered cheerfully, "William of Norwell will literally beat you to death."

"He'll beat me while in chains?" the sheriff asked sarcastically.

Robin shrugged. "You're a weak man."

"A weak man who had you weeping like a child." The sheriff slammed the door on the both of them.

"Son of a--"

Nan put a hand on Robin's arm. "I must head into the hall now, Rob," she said, "you stay out of sight and out of sound until we are finished." She smiled, half-warning.

He nodded but was glaring at a distant wall. "Aye, I have someone I must speak with, anyways."

"Who is that?" she asked nervously.

"One of the stable hands," he lied effortlessly, "I'm sure he pinched David's eating knife, and I'm in a mood to make him confess and return it."

She couldn't hide the relief that soaked her voice. "That's a good thing. I'll see you after our council."

"Aye. Good luck."

The king himself came charging into the room not a few minutes after Nan. "Am I to understand that the lot of you bears something against the sheriff?" he began quickly, arching both his eyebrows mockingly. Allan, seated at his sovereign's right hand, nodded elegantly. "Aye, we do. He raises the taxes past even the demands of your brother, Prince John, to make himself a profit. And, if I may say so, it is no small profit he makes."

"All you have against him is the taxes? We have such corruption across our land, and they were bound to be high when collecting my ransom. As difficult as paying them might have been, you can hardly think you are alone in your sufferings. It is no cause for the rebellion you have demonstrated."  
"Nay, my liege," Allan replied evenly, never abandoning his pleasant formality, "Although the taxation is a significant part of our complaints, it is hardly our sole motive. As you may or may not know, being engaged with Crusade as you were, Prince John has given our lord sheriff the sincere honor of hosting His Majesty's foresters of Sherwood. Milord sheriff has given his own somewhat irresponsible brother the post of Chief Forester, and it is generally known that this man feasts on your majesty's own venison. Should one of the lower foresters bring a complaint against such unlawful behavior to the sheriff, he is either beaten badly by Nottingham's guards or brought into abject poverty by unfair wages for a day's labor. Also in regard to the forest, the turf wall which separate the king's realm in Sherwood from that of the Lord Norton has been lowered, and many of his majesty's deer have consequently been able to leap over into Lord Norton's forest range."  
King Richard sighed and turned to the sheriff. "And in your own defense?" he asked, expecting a perfectly legitimate excuse. Of course, the sheriff had one.  
"I suppose I shall have to defend myself from each of these supposed crimes one at a time. So, to begin - I raise the taxes only to Prince John's requirements. But one must forgive them in that error, for peasants are rather dull and inept at doing sums. They are therefore incapable of understanding the importance of procuring the king's ransom. And the Chief Forester? I certainly knew nothing of that awful practice, and I assure you I will speak to him about on the morrow at the latest. I knew well he paid some more than others, but I supposed it was based on the amount of work done."  
The sheriff sneered wickedly at Allan for a moment and then turned an innocent face back to King Richard. "I shall remove my brother, clearly, for he cannot hold his post well, but I see no reason that _I _should be removed for a crime that is not of my own doing. I only wish that these outlaws had voiced their dissent instead of turning first to violence. However, one must forgive them their ignorant ways; many of these men are nearly animals. Only the ill-bred can even bear to converse with them."

Allan smiled pleasantly at the sheriff. "His Majesty and I spoke together for quite some time this morn."

Sir Richard almost laughed aloud. Allan was showing an unanticipated talent for court manners and backstabbing.

The sheriff gulped like a beached mackerel. Allan's eyebrows darted expectantly into his forehead, mocking twin crescents awaiting an answer. "Are you short of breath, milord?" the minstrel asked politely, clasping his hands and turning an attentive face to the sheriff.

King Richard sighed. "Leave the blunderer free of your wit, Robin," he said, a fond smile on his face as he looked at Allan. "The king's justice must be deliberated now."

Allan bowed his head obediently. "As you wish it, Your Majesty. But might I add another charge before you deliberate?"

"Very well, very well."

"Milord sheriff, despite his _indomitable_ wit," – the barb stuck – "has a blindness which results from noxious ambition. This self-serving sentiment of his drove him to an arrogant act of treasonous nature. He encouraged your brother, Prince John, to usurp your throne and rule England in your place!"

"I never--"

"Why then was Prince John at the hanging of one of my followers? Why then has he been at your castle numerous times – more oft than any proud royalty would _patronize_ some country sheriff? Also, why at one of these visits, did you promise the prince the use of your castle in the…how did you phrase it? Ah, in the 'coming rise of a younger brother to his right place'. Pray, I am eager to hear your explanations."

The outlaws were enjoyably shocked by Allan's unexpected ferocity. They had never thought of him as much of a wit, much less a debater, but he was slicing the sheriff's image to ribbons.

"I was referring to the prince's rise to regent, outlaw. It was well-known that all at court preferred him to the current regent, William Longchamp. He was planning to assume the post by force within the next fortnight, and I pledged my allegiance to his cause. Your Majesty, I can assure you that if your brother had any plans of usurping the throne, I would have shut my doors to him. You are God's anointed and rightful king of this water-walled nation…"

"Why then would you dispute his majesty's choice for regent?" Allan snapped, unimpressed by the sheriff's recovery.

King Richard sighed. "Silence, the both of you. Your bickering wearies me, and I shall deliberate now." He paused, staring at his hands for a few minutes. The others in the room did not make a sound, quietly glancing at one another or holding hands in fear. If the sheriff were reinstated, he would make their lives living Hell, pardons or not. They could expect little peace; nights awake with the candles lit, and unjust accusations were undoubtedly in their future.  
And so when their sovereign stirred, their eyes went wide with fear and anxiety. "I have decided," the king began, "after hearing both sides of the story, that this sheriff you all complain of is as fit for this position as any man. I have worse enemies in England than some merchant class sheriff."

Adam Bell suddenly stood and bent over in an elegant and courtly bow. "My liege," he began, in better-accented Norman French than even Allan could manage, "It has been a long time since we last saw one another. When was it last – I do believe it was in the solar at Windsor Castle?"

The outlaws stared.

King Richard frowned in confusion for a few moments. "Aubert - Aubert des cloches?"

Adam lifted his chin and grinned. "Who else could look so dashing with a scar on his face, Your Majesty?"

King Richard smiled at the mock conceit. "Indeed, Aubert, it is you. But what are you doing in Nottingham? I would have thought my mother had better use for a queen's man than this."

The outlaws stared.

Adam cleared his throat. "Your esteemed mother, the lovely former Queen Eleanor, sent me with two of my comrades into Nottingham to investigate the alleged traitorous acts of its sheriff. I found that he was conspiring with your royal brother, John, to intercept funds for you ransom. I also discovered that a certain band of outlaws was fighting his tyranny, and so I 'became an outlaw' – that is, requested that my fair queen sign a few papers, which accused me of murder and such, to convince the sheriff I was a wanted man from London. In such a way, I was able to gain their trust and aid them in their noble quest to antagonize the traitor, and contribute to your ransom fund."

Every mouth present was hanging slack. Adam Bell, the crazed and bloodthirsty man of rumor, was the queen's man? They all could hardly stand to take their eyes from him. Hadn't there been something to give it away? Some sign of his hidden importance?

Adam, now Aubert, reached into his tunic. "And so, my honored Sovereign," he began, bowing anew, "as much as I trust your impeccable judgment, I must disagree, and sadly, apologize. I admit I withheld this information for the time being. I had foolishly assumed that we had enough evidence to ensure this man's dismissal." He flung some parchment dramatically across the table, and it came to rest at King Richard's place. "Your Majesty knows well that I was never a master at strategy."

The ruler stared down at the paper for a time, and then looked up in astonishment. "Is this all true? Have I actually been so cheated?"

"My revered king, one cannot be perfectly sure, but I estimate the population of Nottingham at mayhap one hundred more than claimed in the sheriff's tax reports. I do not recall how many the paper says."

"This parchment reads that the sheriff claims a population of one hundred and fifteen less than the truth, and keeps the taxes from those 115 houses in his own coffers."

Adam nodded complacently, hands clasped behind his back. "That would meet well with my approximations."

"And from whence did you obtain this, you scapegrace?" King Richard was grinning. "Rob it from some cathedral, I suppose?"

"They do not call me Aubert of the Bells for naught, my liege." He winked. "However, this was given to me by Robin Hood. It was written in the hand of Wilfred of Whitby, whose astute examinations of the sheriff's dealings are the source of these numbers. It seems his suspicions were roused by our lord sheriff's lavish spending."

"And you believe this?"

"Robin Hood believes it, my liege. I am willing to place my faith in anyone who has his." King Richard turned a formidable glower to the lord sheriff of Nottingham. "So if this is true, what_ have _you been doing with the extra revenues?" His scowl had grown even deeper when he thought of all that extra money in the hands of that man, used for nothing but frivolity.

The sheriff was struck nearly dumb by the shock of Adam Bell's true identity, but he still had his wits about him. "I - I, well of course I used it to contribute to your ransom fund, Your Majesty."  
Adam laughed mockingly. "If you are going to be an ass, milord sheriff, at least be an honest one."

* * *

A/N: You are all some sort of angelic chorus for putting up with that one. 

Thanks so stinking much for reading! To paraphrase Emerson - the good reader makes the good story. -


	32. Bonds of Blood

**A/N: **Finally, an update! I know I'm a fiend for taking so long - please forgive me! - but I lost the original that was all typed up and ready for update. It's drifting somewhere in the swamp of my hard drive.

As always, a special thanks to my beta buddy, who catches my historical inaccuracies, my grammar mistakes, my word repetitions, and just straight-up calls me on my BS. I owe her big time. :-)

Oh, and thanks to Alison for pointing out that "Your Majesty" thing.

Lastly, a huge thank you to my readers, too, for waiting so long and for reading. I adore you all!

* * *

I sat quietly among the ladies, finishing the last bits of a stitching project and listening to the murmurs of gossip. Dusk was falling, and much of the house was mellowing with the sun. However, conversation had livened amongst our group; while the other outlaws were discussing the sheriff's fate, Robin had stormed into the room and fought with his mother, giving us much to talk about. 

Elizabeth, now of Locksley, looked so very unlike her son that it was hard to believe they were related. Even at her age, she was a lovely woman – pale and fair-haired, with large light blue eyes and fine high cheekbones. Her nose was upturned and petite, her laugh was high and cultured, her smile was the easy coquettish curve of someone too accustomed to getting her way. But she had a screech on her to rival dying cats.

She and Robin had screamed at one another from nearly the moment Robin blasted through the door. He had been fuming, voice like spitting lightning as he ordered her to "take that kitchen swill back."

Smiling with sardonic calm, Elizabeth had replied: "Whatever do you mean?"

"To the Devil with you! You will bloody well revoke those murder charges against Will!"

Still oozing sarcasm, Elizabeth blinked innocently. "My forester Boarsman Stone was very dear to me. I feel his loss keenly, and would fain see his murderer brought to justice."

Robin's fists were tight balls by his side. "What do you know of justice? This is only another angle of your scheming revenge against me for God-knows-what crime!"

"Nay." Her voice had been soft and calm, and her deadly quiet made Robin seem like a madman. "William of Norwell is and always has been overly violent, bloodthirsty--"

Robin's finger jabbed at her. "Hellfire, you leave Will be! Take _my_ dignity, wench, but you owe _him _his reputation!"

Another innocent blink. "Pardon?"

"Aye, _mother,_ were it not for Will I'd have been dead ten years ago, and you'd have been held accountable for my death at the gates of Heaven."

Shrugging calmly and smiling slightly at her embroidery, she submitted. "_That _is your opinion."

"True; most say you wouldn't even make it to the gates!"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and lost her coy charade. "And what," she spat, "would you know of morality, _murderer_?"

Robin snarled. "As much as any whoring noblewoman would!"

The spat of profanities and shouts that followed made everyone in the room gasp or start. She may live in a world of manners and silk, but there were peasant curses coming from the Lady of Locksley's mouth. Robin was even worse, spewing forth as many "colorful" words as he knew in three different languages. I had never seen him like this – cursing and yelling and – _cruel. _If any word of his could make the lady flinch, he would sneer with sadistic glee and dig his barb in even more viciously. The two of them were so unnatural; mother and son both took such delight from the other's pain.

It culminated when the Lady of Locksley slapped her son full across the face. She barked a triumphant laugh at the mark her ring left, sounding somewhat mad, and without thinking he retaliated. Already furious, he grabbed her arms and shook her ferociously in return.

"I'll see Norwell hang!" she cried vengefully, "I'll see him hung, drawn, and quartered if you touch me again, whelp!"

As if waking suddenly from a dream, Robin released her and stepped backwards. His eyes widened with suspicion, and his head slowly began to shake in denial. Slowly, he opened his lips to mouth a protest. She smirked obnoxiously and leaned forward, arms poised eagerly across her legs. "That's the way, Robin. Beg, why don't you?"

Quickly recovering, he sneered at her. "That's the punishment for treason, and Will's committed no act of treason! Besides, he's a _nobleman_, you witless harlot. They won't hang him, not even if you slept with every justice in lower England."

She snarled. "He'll hang if the king orders it."

"_You _are no king."

"But I am the king's friend."

"Ha! You didn't lend a penny to get him out of that Austrian prison, witch, but Sherwood's outlaws did." He smirked with such malice I almost recoiled. "Watch yourself, woman. I am in the king's favor, outlaw or not."

He turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm, sinking in her nails and whipping him around. "The king _will _hang Norwell! I promised him the use of all Locksley's soldiers in his upcoming war, in return for it."

Robin's face iced over with horror. He met his mother's eyes, and his mouth twisted with pleas and curses doubly. I wanted to slap that devil across her smug face. He was her _son, _by Heaven, and yet…She laughed outright at his agony. "You can come watch, _sweeting_."

The ice cracked with rage, and Robin swore at her. "To Hell with you!" he screamed, long fingers clenched in tight fists. A few ladies covered their ears as the curse echoed off the walls. "He'll not die! They'll hang me first!" He whirled around and tore towards the door.

Elizabeth of Locksley crossed her arms and smirked derisively. "Nothing, brat, would please me more."

As dusk approached, we were still whispering about it. Elizabeth, seeing our faces, had snapped her fingers at one of her ladies and marched through the door hissing in Norman French. She was still out there wandering about the halls and complaining in the language of nobility. The rest of the ladies in the house – myself, Sir Richard's two daughters, and a young cousin of theirs – were sitting quietly in the older sister's chambers and chatting.

"Is Robin Hood really her son?" someone whispered.

For the hundredth time, I answered everyone's favorite question. "Aye."

My questioner put her hand to her mouth, even though she knew the answer. "Oh, dear heavens," she whispered. "I would never have guessed." Hearing her surprised tone, I almost rolled my eyes, but a huge crash outside the door stopped me. In an instant, our gaggle had thrown open the door. We squirmed around one another for a view. I thrust my head past a particularly obnoxious elbow just in time to watch Robin and Will sprint past us.

Bloody Hell.

Robin latched into Will's wrist and swung him off into another corridor. After taking a nervous look back at his growing audience, he followed. Guards flashed past us, obscuring the view as their quarry sped round the corner. I ducked under sweeping sleeves and darted after them. What was going on?

The two fugitives ran at breakneck speed across the stone, their pursuers shouting loudly for reinforcements. Everything was a rush of havoc as guards and their masters burst into the halls to discover the cause of the commotion. Sir Richard and his son came up behind me, the latter rubbing his eyes and mumbling complaints like a child. I turned to them, and the knight's eyes were full of worried questions. "He didn't, did he?"

I nodded. "He broke Will out and they're running."

The knight sighed, staring ahead at the chase. "Faith, that was what I feared."

The three of us sprinted towards the runaways. Shoving through the horde of frightened serving wenches and a few ladies-in-waiting, we met the broad backs of the pursuing guards. Ahead of them, Will and his cousin scrambled into the crowded kitchens. The serving lads and lasses made some serious obstacles for the ranks of guards, but they adapted pretty quickly.

Robin hopped onto a table, scattering bowls and vegetables. He threw some at the guards as he tripped along the planks, managing to land an apple in a captain's eye.

He and Will slipped through the servants' door, escaping into the main hall. They slammed the door behind them, and the guards could not open it.  
"They've jammed something up against the door!" The captain yelled, gesturing frantically, "Go to the other entrance – and bring torches!"

Sir Richard and I trailed after his men as they ran to follow orders. The other doors of the hall were flung open, suggesting that the two outlaws had already made their escape. The hall was deserted, black as a raven, and its rafters creaked when the wind blew through the doors. Half of the guards flashed their torches under tables, hoping that Robin and Will had been stupid enough to hide in here; the other group spread out to search the manor.

As it became clear that no one was in the room, the guards moved to search other rooms and a patrol was sent to scour the fields. The captain sighed, running a thick hand through his hair. "My apologies, Sir Richard. We should have been quicker."

His master smiled forgivingly. "Ah, 'tis no fault of yours. You were up against Robin Hood, after all."

The captain frowned at the ground. "I still failed you, milord."

Sir Richard shook his head. "Even the king's own men were slower than you, Eallard. I cannot ask you to be swifter than the servants of royalty."

Eallard still looked guilty. "I must admit, milord," he gulped, "that I was not as vigilant as I could have been. Robin Hood gave food to my sister in Nottingham." He steeled himself, as if he expected to be struck.

"That is to be expected," the knight answered dismissively, holding out his hand, "Please give me your torch, so that I might find my rooms. Good luck with the rest of your search."

Eallard blinked in surprise at the quick forgiveness. "Aye, milord." He quickly jogged outside, calling for an update on the chase.

* * *

"Will?" Robin whispered his cousin's name, but it still seemed to echo in the hollow hall. He shook with terror, balanced delicately on a rafter. 

Will whispered "Aye. What do we do now?" from his own rafter.

Robin didn't know. They had to escape this room before daylight betrayed their hiding places; they'd been lucky enough not to be caught already. But he had no idea where the guards were. They could have given up the chase, or they could be waiting outside the door. "I ought to look outside," he answered finally.

On the east wall, just below where the roofing timbers made a triangle, there was an arm's length of bare timber frame. It looked as if the carpenter had simply forgotten to fill in that part of the wall. However, this seeming lapse was meant to provide an escape route for smoke that would usually dally around people's noses.

At the moment, Robin was intending to use it as a window. He scurried to the end of his rafter closest to the north wall. Squatting, he planted his feet on the beam between roof and wall, which ran the length of the room. He fumbled above him for two of the timbers that supported the roof. When he'd gotten a decent grip, he yanked himself upright. His body was now hanging at the same angle as the timbers, and the wood was older than he was. He gulped and reached out blindly with one hand, fumbling for the next roof timber. It was a slow journey, pulling himself along timber by timber and shuffling along the beam.

Finally, he reached the smoke hole and peered through the slats.

It was too dark to make out faces; he saw only torches, and counted each one as a guard. They were clustered on the tower, keeping watch on the meadow between Sherwood and the manor. There was no one below him, so he knew the door was unguarded.

He ducked back down and called to Will. "We can get out through this door. There are no guards there. But what after that?"

"We could steal some horses and ride to Sherwood."

"They'd notice that."

"Knock out two guards. Put on their uniforms?"

"We could. Then they'd let us have the horses. We could say we'd been sent out on patrol."

"Aye."

"We'll have to split up, though. Say they sent you to the south, and I'll say I was ordered to the north. They usually don't send them out in pairs."

"You can't ride a horse, though."

"I'll only need to get out of the gates for them to believe me. Then I can jump off and run."

"Who'll go first?"

"You. You're a better liar than I am, and you look more like a guard."

They climbed down quickly from the rafters and made their bumbling way through the dark hall to the doors.

* * *

"YOUR MAJESTY!" Someone was shouting through the halls, and it woke me.

I threw a mantle about my shoulders and pushed my door open. Elizabeth followed quickly behind me, tugging a blanket around herself. Captain Eallard was manhandling one of his own, sticking a dagger to the fellow's throat. Three other guards followed, swords drawn in case the captive should try to escape. I followed him, confused by what I was seeing.

King Richard stormed out of his room. "This had best be _damn _important," he snapped.

"I caught the outlaw, Robin Hood. He was pretending to be one of my own men."

"And Norwell?"

Eallard looked sheepish. "Norwell, unfortunately, got away. He was also dressed in a guard's uniform, and managed to procure a horse by telling one of my men that he'd been ordered out on a search for the outlaws. This one here tried the same trick a bit later, but he told the lie to _me_. I give the orders to go out on patrol, so I knew he was lying."

"Good work, Captain. I commend you for your vigilance."

Eallard looked neither satisfied nor proud. "What should I do with him?"

"Hang him tomorrow morn. For now, call Sir Richard and have him thrown in the foulest dungeon here."

Robin shuddered violently at the word 'dungeon' and looked nervously around him. More people were coming out of their rooms to see the spectacle, some sad and others surprised.

Only one was outright happy. Elizabeth ran towards the king and captive, her face radiant. "Ah! The outlaw is caught," she exclaimed pleasantly, "I can sleep at last."

Robin spit at her. "Will's free."

She shrugged. "For now." Then she turned to the king. "When is his hanging to be?"

King Richard scowled, not sure whether had heard enthusiasm or concern in her voice. "You are a lady. It would not be fit for you to witness such a scene of violence."

Her mouth dropped open, but she quickly shut it and nodded obediently. "Of course not. That was my reason for asking, Your Majesty. I should not want to be present when such a thing was happening, and so I wished to know when to avoid the yard."

The king clearly didn't believe her, but he let it pass and retired to his rooms.

As soon as his door shut, Elizabeth grabbed Robin's chin and tugged it close to her face. "I've won, wretch," she boasted, grinning hideously. Her voice dropped to a hiss. "Choke slowly."

"Devil take you," he answered.

She turned on her heel and entered our rooms. I followed her slowly, feeling sick in the pit of my belly.

Lady Elizabeth turned to me once the door was shut and a few torches had been lit. "I can't sleep now," she told me, "I am so frustrated. Am I supposed to miss this hanging?"

"It is not fit for ladies to witness such scenes of violence," I quoted heatedly, planting myself in a chair. I could not believe that Robin was going to hang again.

She looked me up and down, snorting with disdain. "I am sure that _you_ are the very picture of ladylike behavior."

I glared at her, a bit surprised at that burst of rudeness. "I am no harlot, if that is what you are suggesting."

She laughed outright at that one, tilting her head to the ceiling and holding a long hand to her chest. "Oh, my Lord," she finished breathlessly, a taunting smile still plastered across her aging face, "You a lady? You, who associates so freely with_ outlaws_?"

Fighting the retort I wanted to give, I calmly replied, "I betrayed one to the sheriff, Milady, and can hardly be accused of harboring any sympathies with them." _Now stop your tongue._

She snorted disbelievingly. "You nearly tore your selfish heart from your pretty little chest in doing so, Marian Whitby. You cannot deny that." She shook her head condescendingly. "You nearly drowned in your tears over my wretched, repulsive son."

Still maintaining my front of composure, I returned: "I was duped by the sheriff and his devil's scheme into harming one of my fellow men. How else could I react?"

Her lips arched to the left in a twisted and arrogant smirk. "Ah, the _sheriff_'s plan. Of course, my dear." She cupped her hands round her knees and leant forward, the smirk suddenly deadly. "But of course."

I glared at her, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What exactly are you saying?"

"Do you really think the sheriff knew you were associating with outlaws?" Her flaxen brows were hefted in mocking twin crescents above her pale blue eyes as she leaned back smugly. "Do you honestly believe that he knew Robin Hood was smitten with you? Are you under the impression that he even knew the other members of Robin Hood's band?"

I stared in dumb amazement at her, and she laughed coldly.

"Stupid girl. _I_ told him. Who else could have possibly known that my wretched son was infatuated with you?" I started in surprise. Did he really? And then I had---

Elizabeth saw my expression and grinned maliciously. "Oh, aye, he was besotted. I haven't set eyes on the brat in ten years, but I knew he'd still have his lusts set on you. It wasn't as if any girl would be interested in marrying him, the hideous thing. You were the only one who ever even spared him a glance." She snorted out a laugh. "And even that glance was one of contempt."

I formed a protest, lifting my finger, but she cut me off. "I knew you well, too. I knew you didn't love him in return – how could you? How could anyone?"

"But how did you---"

Obnoxiously pleased with the success of her plan, Elizabeth reclined a bit. "Know that Robin was outlawed? Norwell had a slip of the tongue. Know that he was Robin Hood? That wretch robbed my coach, and I recognized the scar I gave him on his left hand as he took my rings. Know that you still visited them? All your mysterious absences added up, and I found a Lincoln green cloak under your pallet. Know that Robin would try to save Norwell? I've seen that creature take beatings for William; I've given him some of them. William always has and always will be that misshapen beast's only defender. And so like the servile dog he is, my foul son would flay himself alive to save William any pain."

I was so overcome with horror that I could barely form sentences. "Why in God's name did you--"

Her casual smugness broke and collapsed into an indignant frenzy. "Why in God's name not? He and that nasty Norwell destroyed whatever happiness I could have salvaged from my marriage with the Lord of Locksley!"

"Robin never did a thing to you! How could he have done--"

"Aye, but Norwell cost me more alliances than I can number, and now I'll get them both, won't I? William will slit his wrists when he hears he brought about his cousin's death; he always feels so guilty, and that unsightly animal that some call my son will have his neck stretched on the gallows."

I stared at her in shocked silence. The cold way she spoke of her son, of her nephew, of her wicked revenge – it was more disturbing than I could voice. It was a cool plot to murder, and if not to murder than to twist life into a worse Hell than any that waits in eternity. Thinking of the way she had manipulated me, the crooked paths she had taken to inflict her demented punishment on Robin and Will—

"You bitch."

I tackled her, knocking her and her chair to the ground. She cried out in surprise and flailed as my fist went hard into her cheekbone. Her nails raked across my face, and I dug my knee into her stomach. Our screams of anger had the other ladies backed against the wall and crying for help. To Hell with them. I mashed my fists immaturely in her eyes, and she howled like a cat on coals. Her hands locked in my hair and tore a chunk from my skull so quickly that the shock made my eyes water. We went on clawing, slapping, punching, tearing, tugging, scratching--- To the devil with it, I was going to tear her eyeballs out or go bald trying.

Suddenly, Richard hauled me upright, his fingers a firm grip on my forearms. I immediately stopped fighting, deep shame welling up inside and heating my face. Sir Richard was standing in the doorway, staring at the two of us in shock.

Elizabeth stood, and I was mightily pleased to see that she looked like she'd been in a bar fight. I could feel a scratch on my own forehead oozing a bit of blood, but I smirked triumphantly. Her lip was so swollen, I doubted she _could_ smirk.

Richard drew me to his chest in that same possessive way he always held me, and Elizabeth was left standing alone. I took a grim satisfaction in that, and I sneered at her.

She started towards me, incensed, but Sir Richard shot her a warning look, and she stopped moving. But there was a raging hatred in her eyes.

"I-I won't have my future wife sleeping in a room with that banshee!" Richard cried suddenly, frightened by the devilish look on Elizabeth's swelling face. I had punched her _hard._

Sir Richard sighed, hand on his forehead. "Very well. It seems these ladies are none too fond of one another. Lady Marian, pray come to the northwest rooms."

"Aren't those near the dungeons?" Elizabeth sneered. "We wouldn't want milady disturbed by the outlaw's screams."

Sir Richard trapped her in his level and critical stare. "I do not order innocent men tortured."

* * *

**A/N: **If you were able to understand that whole rafter bit, I applaud you sincerely. I used the word "rafter" far too liberally, I know. There are actually specific terms, like "cross-beam" that might have made it easier to understand. However, my ability to describe architecture is nonexistant. I promise to rewrite that part if I ever develop said ability. 


End file.
